


Friends in High Places

by Eryn_Ivers



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Dominance, Happy Ending, Humiliation, M/M, Murder Mystery, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Oral Sex, Organized Crime, Slow Burn, Submission
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-05-29 22:08:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6395839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eryn_Ivers/pseuds/Eryn_Ivers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hidashi Sato, homicide detective, catches the eye of the Eisenmann Family crime boss, Ian Eisenmann, when he begins investigating the brutal murder of a powerful man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Friends With the Good Guys

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello friends! Here is the first chapter of my new work in progress. It was meant to come out earlier, but I wanted to set myself a regular updating schedule and knew that I wouldn’t have been able to keep to it these past couple weeks. 
> 
> This should be a slow, plot-y, burn but I am a firm believe in resolving sexual tension, so don’t you worry!
> 
> I will be updating every other week on Mondays (so next chapter will not come out next Monday, but the Monday after that). 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the story!

Friends in High Places

Eryn Ivers

 

Chapter 1

Friends With the Good Guys

 

Officer Hollar had his hand over his mouth and leaned heavily against the wet brick wall.  The rain drizzled down on them, and ran in rivulets down Hollar’s cheeks as he composed himself.  Hidashi Sato watched him with a frown, Akia sitting at his side, ears turned down against the rain, looking at him with her head tilted.

“Sorry, Sato,” Hollar said as he straightened himself.  He grimaced.  “This is a pretty nasty one.”

“Death usually is,” Hidashi said.  “Why don’t you take a break.”  He clasped his shoulder as he walked past, Akia padding at his side and approached the bright yellow crime scene tape that cordoned off the end of the dead end alley.

The few other officers that had answered the call were heading back to their cars and Hidashi ducked under the tape to stand beside the body and Dr. Matsumoto who knelt there.  He swept his eyes over the spectacle and wrinkled his nose.

“Someone was angry,” he said.

“Or just cruel,” Dr. Matsumoto replied.  She shoved a thermometer into one of the organs that still remained in the chest cavity.  “He was alive when this was done to him.”

The young man on the pavement between them gaped up at the grey sky, eyes and mouth wide open.  He was eviscerated.  A long clean gash slit him open from the base of his shriveled penis to the V of his collarbone.  The gash had been widened, his ribs broken and pulled outward and his insides pulled half out. 

Meters of intestines curled in and out of the gaping hole, and feces filled the bottom of the body cavity where the colon had been cut.  His lungs sat haphazardly side ways in his chest.  He was nude, not a stitch of clothing on him.

“Was anything taken?” Sato asked.

“Yeah, his liver,” Dr. Matsumoto replied.  “It’ll be hard to get an exact time of death without it.”  She waved along the body.  “And with him out in the air like this temperature of anything will tell us little at best.”

Hidashi grimaced and nodded.

“But I can tell you that he definitely died last night,” the doctor continued.  She pulled her gloves up a little and poked around in the body cavity again.  Hidashi forced himself not to look away.  “And all this took time, and privacy, and was clearly not done here.  So this was an all night affair.”

“So the killer would have spent the whole night with our vic’ then,” Hidashi said.  “That’s good for now.  Do we know who he is yet?”

Dr. Matsumoto nodded towards a junior detective that sat in his car not far from where they stood, looking at his in-car-computer and scribbling furiously on a little notebook. 

“Detective Tan was working on that, I think,” she said.  “I’m going to get this guy back to my office.  I’ll call you when I finish my autopsy.”

“Thanks.”  He nodded to the doctor and then turned and patted his thigh for Akia to follow.  “Detective Tan, what have you found out?”

Tan jumped at the interruption, then swallowed nervously when his eyes fell on Akia.  He pulled his eyes back away from the big sable dog and then riveted them to Hidashi.  He straightened immediately and scrambled out of the car and onto his feet.

“Detective Sato,” he said.  He stuck out his hand.  “Detective Brian Tan.  I’ve been assigned to work under you for this case.  I’m looking forward to learning from you, sir.”

Hidashi took his hand and shook it firmly.

“Hidashi Sato,” he said.  “And this is Akia.”  The younger man glanced down at Akia again, and her pointed ears flicked as she regarded him.  His jaw tightened slightly.

“N-nice to meet you,” he said.  Still looking at Akia, he continued, “We, uh, never had a dog growing up.  I don’t have much experience.”

“Well, try not to look so scared,” Hidashi said.  “She can smell it on you.”  The boy’s eyes widened slightly and his face lost some color.

“Right!”  He whirled around and turned the screen of his computer towards them.  Hidashi hid a smile.  “So this is our vic’.”  He tapped a picture on the screen.  Hidashi leaned in for a better look.  It was a professional looking head shot.  The young man sat smiling at the camera, dressed in an expensive looking suit with an expensive looking tie.

“Hans Metzger,” Tan said.

“Metzger?”  Hidashi repeated, tasting the name on his tongue.  It sounded familiar.

“Yeah, the old real estate tycoon family.”

“Right.”  Hidashi nodded as the name clicked into place.  “They used to own half the city.”

“Used to,” Tan agreed.  He swiped to a couple of web pages from newspapers with head lines declaring the Metzger family’s tumble from grace.  “They’ve been losing billions since the Fair Treatment and Equal Humans Act ten years ago.  Their support of magic-user’s rights was unpopular with the old conservative types.  But they had billions to spare.”  He swiped to the home page of the Metzger Family Association, the original source of the photo they had been looking at moments ago. 

“So who did he piss off in his scramble back to the top to end up like this,” Hidashi mused.

“He was dealing with huge amounts of money.” Tan shrugged.  “The kind of money that could make and break other men.  Maybe it was just business.”

“It could very well be business related, but—” Hidashi shook his head “—You don’t eviscerate someone alive just to turn a profit.  You do that for more passionate reasons.”

Tan frowned in understanding and stared back at the screen of his computer, as though the pixels held the answer.  Hidashi straightened up.

“We’re not going to solve this murder right now in the front seat of your car,” he said.  “Meet me back at the precinct.

“Oh, right.”  Detective Tan pushed his computer away and got back in his car.  “Meet you there.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hidashi closed the car door behind Akia as she jumped down, and walked to the elevator to ride it up to the precinct’s main level.  He absently scratched behind her soft ears as they rode it up.

“Sato!”  Two steps out of the elevator, Hidashi turned to see Organized Crime Detective Mubari striding towards him with a folder in his hand.  “I was hoping to catch you before I had to head out.  I have something that might be related to your new case.”

“From Organized Crime?”  Hidashi asked, leading the way to his desk.  Detective Mubari snorted.

“If the Metzger family owned half the city, the Eisenmann Family owned the other half, if not more.”

“You think the Metzger family and the Eisenmann Crime Family had connections?”  Hidashi asked, sitting at his desk as Mubari sat across from him.

“Oh I know they did,” Mubari said, waving a big hand dismissively.  “Two powerhouses like the Metzgers and the Eisenmanns don’t just pretend the other doesn’t exist.  But that’s not what I’m here for, that kind of connection is a given.”

“I guess it’s been awhile since I’ve dealt at all with Organized Crime,” Hidashi admitted, leaning forward as Mubari placed his folder on the desk.

“Sorry I’m late!”  Detective Tan appeared suddenly, pulling a seat over to them.  “Got caught in traffic.”

“Avoid the 2nd Avenue route this time of the morning,” Hidashi said with a half smile.  “The public school rush is terrible.”

“I’ll remember that,” Tan grimaced.

“Detective Mubari, this is Junior Detective Tan, assigned to work with me on this case,” Hidashi introduced.  “Detective Tan, this is Detective Mubari from Organized Crime.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Mubari said, shaking the younger man’s hand.  “I was just about to show Detective Sato this file on the Eisenmann family hit man: Max Gut.”

“One of their hit men?”

“Yup, an aptly named one, too,” Mubari replied.  “Now, these are pretty gruesome, but probably no worse than what you saw this morning.”

Mubari flipped open the file and spread the vivid photos out over Hidashi’s neat desk.  Hidashi grimaced as he picked one up to look at it more closely.  It was of a man, dead on the pavement, eviscerated and with his intestines half in and half out of his body.  Hidashi put it back down and glanced over the others.  They were all similar.

“Gut _is_ an apt name,” he murmured in a wry tone.  “These are all horizontal cuts though.  Our vic’ had a vertical one.”

“True,” Mubari said.  He gathered some pictures to the center.  “But as you can see here, he seemed to be experimenting a little.  Some of these cuts are more diagonal than horizontal.”

“It’s not impossible that he should try a new style,” Tan said, to his credit not flinching from the photos as most rookies would.  “Even work as a hit man’s gotta get monotonous sometimes.”

“True,” Hidashi said slowly.  His own gut, firmly within his body cavity, told him that this Gut was not their man, but he couldn’t not pursue a lead to its end.  “I assume you’ve never been able to pin anything on this guy?”

“Of course not,” Mubari said bitterly.  “Such is the life of Organized Crime.  You almost always know who did it.  You can almost never prove it.”

“You know where to find him?” Hidashi asked.

“Nah, the Eisenmann bosses always play their hit men close to the chest.  Gotta talk to the boss himself if you wanna ask about their assassins.” 

Hidashi raised an eyebrow.

“You want me to confront a mob boss? As a cop?”

“Well, not confront exactly,” Mubari said.  “Have a polite conversation with.  They appreciate the honesty and they’ll be just as honest with you about whether or not they’re going to cooperate.”

Hidashi’s frown deepened.

“This is not usually how my police work is done.”

“Welcome to Organized Crime,” Mubari chuckled.  “Just show your badge, ask for an audience, and be respectful.  You’ll be surprised how painless it is.”

“Yes…bullets through the back of your skull do tend to be quick and painless…”  Tan muttered.  A chuckle bubbled out of Hidashi’s throat.

“He’s not going to kill you,” Mubari snorted.  Then in all seriousness.  “Not this first meeting at least.”

“Do you know the boss,” Hidashi asked.

“Not this one, no,” Mubari admitted.  “He was a young star, rising through the ranks fast.  Must have developed some serious pull ‘cause word on the street is that the old man stepped down willingly.”

“Maybe he just thought it was time to pass the torch,” Hidashi suggested, leaning back in his chair.  He’d seen enough of the pictures.  “Saw a good successor, didn’t want to let this one pass him up.”

“Possibly,” Mubari shrugged.  “Still, I think these groups might define ‘willingly’ a little differently than you and I.”

“Right.  Well, where do you find the Eisenmann boss?’

“The Gentleman’s Gambit,” Mubari replied.  “It’s their main front, a card joint in the upper district.  I’ll send you the address.”

“I’ll head over then.”  Hidashi stood up and Akia lifted her head from her bed beside his desk.  “May I take this file?”

“Of course,” Mubari waved his hand.  “Good luck.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hidashi felt the state of his car keenly as he drove it down the sleek roads of the upper district.  He was quite fond of his car, in a practical sort of way.  It had always served him well.  But he was still thankful for the Police Department logo emblazoned on its side and the now off siren on its roof that drew attention away from its dings and dents.

They pulled into the neat and ornate circular driveway of the Gentleman’s Gambit, and Hidashi paused the car at the curb.  He got out and let Akia out of the back seat, then tossed Tan the keys as he got out of the passenger’s side.

“Park the car and wait for me in it,” Hidashi ordered.

“What?” Tan spluttered.  “No, I’m coming with you.”

“No, find street parking and wait for me,” Hidashi reiterated.

“But they’re probably armed in there and outnumber you,” Tan said.

“They’re definitely armed,” Hidashi replied.  “And they outnumber both of us.  One additional gun isn’t going to do any good.”

Tan frowned, not arguing there.

“I have Akia,” Hidashi said, patting her head.  She wagged her tail.  “Wait for me out here.  If I’m not out in two hours, call for backup.”

Tan sighed and got into the driver’s side of the car.

“Alright,” he agreed.  “Be safe, sir.”

“I’ll do my best,” Hidashi patronized, feeling slightly touched by the younger man’s concern though.  Turning away from the car, Hidashi tightened his fingers on the file he carried and entered the classy glass doors into the card casino.

He stepped onto the plush carpet of the foyer, where a reception desk stood at one end, and that opened into a large room filled with card tables.  At this time of day only a few of them were occupied and only a few stools at the bar. 

“Hello, sir.  Can I help you?”  The young woman behind the counter smiled prettily at him.  She did not show any reaction to his less than dapper state of dress, and Hidashi gave her mental points for her control over her facial features.

“Hi, I’m Detective Sato, here to see Ian Eisenmann,” Hidashi said, striding towards her, badge in hand.

“I’ll see if he’s available,” the woman replied, not missing a beat.  She picked up a phone and relayed his request to the unseen person on the other end.  Hidashi studied the building around him.

The large room was lit by glowing orbs, floating weightless around the ceiling.  Those must have been created by a magic user.  It was bold to have clear magic used so obviously.  Businesses usually shied away from it, tended to make customers nervous.

“Detective Sato.”  A large man in a suit appeared from a side door.  He was clearly heavily muscled under the expensive fabric.  “Please follow me.”

Hidashi nodded and followed the man through the large card room.  A number of present people shot him looks, sizing him up.  At this time of day most occupants were members of the Family.  Hidashi looked straight ahead, holding his head high, following the man with a confident stride.  Akia seemed to understand that now was a time to look impressive, and she trotted evenly at his side, ears upright and pricked forward, head up.  They exited the room, walked down a hallway lined with art, and then finally stopped in front of a wood door.  Two more men, clad in suits and clearly armed, stood to either side of it. 

The man knocked and motioned for Hidashi to wait.  The man opened the door and stuck his head inside.

“Detective Sato, sir.” 

A smooth baritone answered him.

“Send him in.”

The man stepped back and opened the door, motioning for Hidashi to enter.  Hidashi did, and the man closed the door behind him. 

The office was surprisingly sparse, though the items it did contain were sleek and obviously expensive.  There was a couch and arm chair with a coffee table between them off to one side, and directly in front of Hidashi was a large, imposing desk.

This Hidashi all took in with a quick, sweeping glance before his gaze was riveted to the man seated behind the desk.

The man remained seated as Hidashi entered, radiating comfort in his position.  He was of a paler complexion, common in Iban, the origin country of the Eisenmann and Metzger families.  Dark brown hair and high cheekbones emphasized the sharp angularity of his face, and under his well tailored suit he was clearly tall and lean, but surprisingly less than bulky.  This was a man that commanded a room with presence, rather than size.  At his shoulder stood another Ibanese man, watching Sato with narrowed eyes.    

Ian Eisenmann was clearly sizing him up just as closely.  His dark eyes scanned Hidashi with no effort to hide his scrutiny.  Hidashi could feel the intense gaze from his feet up to his face, and he had the distinct impression of being undressed.  But he did not flinch, letting Eisenmann see that he too was under scrutiny.

Finally, Eisenmann’s lips curled into his smile, and his eyes glinted.

“Have a seat, Detective Sato,” he said, then to the man at his side, “Give us the room Beck.”  Hidashi nodded and sat in the uncomfortable chair across from the crime boss as the other man left.  Hard, cold, wood.  Clever.  Eisenmann nodded to Akia, who sat obediently at Hidashi’s side.  “That is a beautiful animal.” 

“I’ve raised her since puppyhood,” Hidashi replied.

“You seem to have done well,” Eisenmann said.  “Perhaps one day you could help me with my own animals.”

“I don’t think so, Mr. Eisenmann,” Hidashi said, grasping control of the conversation.  “I’m here about the recent murder of Hans Metzger.”

“Ah, yes.  I admit, I wasn’t pleased to hear the news,” Eisenmann said, raising his eyebrows and nodded.  Word had traveled fast, though Hidashi suspected there was little in this city that this man didn’t know.

“Is that so?” he asked.  “Any particular reason.” 

Eisenmann shrugged. 

“A young Ibanese man newly in control of a powerful family and its assets?” Eisenmann smiled.  “I had a sort of kinship interest in seeing him succeed.” 

“Surely there weren’t that many similarities between your situations?”

“Maybe not to you,” Eisenmann smiled, and Hidashi felt the conversation slipping away from him.  He placed the folder on the table.

“You must have heard how we found him?” Hidashi asked.

“Of course.  It makes me wonder why you’re here.”

“I’m here because of this, Mr. Eisenmann.”  Hidashi opened the folder and spread the bloody photos across the desk.  Ian Eisenmann didn’t blink, and Hidashi felt his blood chill at the lack of reaction.  “These are all murders we know to be the work of your hit man, Max Gut.”

“Well as you know, the Eisenmann Family doesn’t hire hit men.  That’s illegal.”  Eisenmann smiled in ironic amusement.  Hidashi didn’t bother to argue.  “But I am familiar with Gut’s work.  And from what I know of Hans’ murder, he was clearly not killed by Gut.”  He tilted his head and leaned forward, towards Hidashi, studying him.  “You know that though.”

“You seem very confident in Gut’s innocence,” Hidashi said, side stepping the man’s last comment.

Eisenmann sighed and impatiently gathered a few photographs and turned them to face Hidashi.  Then he spoke in a clipped, frustrated tone.

“These cuts are horizontal or diagonal, and ragged.  Hans Metzger’s was painstakingly vertical and smooth.  Clearly different tools were used.  Gut’s victims still have their livers.  Hans does not.  Also, I’ve met Max Gut, he is not creative, he will not change.  Now, since we both know that Max Gut did not kill Hans Metzger, I _would_ like to know why you’re here.”

Hidashi pressed his lips together, taking a moment to respond to the thorough thrashing of Mubari’s theory.  Mubari.  That was why he was here…

“One must always follow a lead,” he said instead.  “Just to see where it goes.”

But Eisenmann seemed to have set upon the same realization the same time as Hidashi.  He leaned back into his chair.

“You were sent here,” he mused.  “Sent into the lion’s den with such a flimsy little theory.”  His eyes danced as he pondered this new bit of information.  “But who sent you?”

Hidashi’s pride stung.

“I am a homicide detective,” he bristled.  “I was not _sent_ by anyone.”  But Eisenmann just lit up with another realization.

“Ah, that’s why,” he said.  “Organized Crime wanted to size me up.  But they know they can’t just walk in, so they sent you.”

“As I said: I am a homicide detective.  A man was murdered.  I am doing my job.”  Hidashi tried not to grit his teeth through the reply.  Eisenmann was right, and now that he said it it was all Hidashi could see.  It had been a long time since he’d had to play the game of department politics, and he had let his guard slip woefully low.

“Of course you are,” Eisenmann said, taking pity on Hidashi.  “And as I’d also like to know who killed poor Hans Metzger, I’ll offer my assistance.”

“Oh?” Hidashi raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Eisenmann said.  “An insight it may have taken you some time to gain.”

“And what’s what?”

“The liver,” Eisenmann steepled his long fingers.  “You’re not going to find it.  It’s a very common ingredient in the more advanced, and darker spells that some of the magic users can cast.”

“Magic users?” Hidashi frowned.  More and more magic users had started to come out of the wood work since the Fair Treatment and Equal Humans Acts, but they were still regarded with much suspicion, and often downright hostility.  Hidashi had never dealt with them.

“Yes, they were never treated half so harshly in the old country, so as an Eisenmann I probably have more familiarity with them than you do,” Eisenmann said.  “I figured you probably wouldn’t make the connection so quickly.”

“You think a magic user killed Hans Metzger for his liver?”

“No,” Eisenmann snorted.  “I think someone killed Hans Metzger because he was Hans Metzger.  But that someone cut him up in a very precise manner, and took a very specific organ.”

“It’s not like a heart,” Hidashi said thoughtfully.  “With symbolic value, or some sort of exterior organ.”

“Exactly,” Eisenmann shifted forward again.  “It’s the liver.  An unattractive if vital blob of flesh.  Unless you want to eat it…or cast with it.”

“We will consider your advice in our investigation,” Hidashi finally said after a pause.  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Eisenmann.”

“Leaving so soon, Detective Sato?”  Ian Eisenmann stood as Hidashi did.  “Please, stay for a drink?”  He waved to a table of glasses, decanters, and liquor beside his desk. 

“No, thank you,” Hidashi replied, thrown by the sudden request.  “I’m on duty.”

“You can say that our interview hasn’t been completed.”  Eisenmann smiled.  “That you attempted to ply my tongue with alcohol.”  He came around from behind his desk and leaned against the front of it.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, Mr. Eisenmann,” Hidashi replied with a wry smile.  “You’ve been very helpful.”

“Is that what you will say when you report back to Organized Crime?”

Hidashi narrowed his eyes.

“I will not be ‘reporting back’ to anyone,” he said sharply.  Eisenmann smiled patronizingly. 

“Of course not.  Well then, we will post pone the drink to when you are not on duty.”

“Or rather, indefinitely,” Hidashi said.  “Thank you again for your time and cooperation.”

He turned then, and left the room, snapping for Akia to follow him up.  He could feel Ian Eisenmann’s dark gaze following him closely, boring into his back, until he finally closed the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

 

Night fell and the empty Gentleman’s Gambit began to wake up.  Nothing compared to the weekend nights, but the card sharks and the businessmen looking to blow off steam and money showed up, as well as other characters on completely different business.

“I’m going out, Beck,” Ian Eisenmann said, as he grabbed his coat from the rack beside his office door.  His underboss, Abelard Beck merely nodded, and sat in his chair behind his desk to occupy it in his absence. 

Trusting the front in the hands of his capable employees, Ian Eisenmann slipped out the back.  A family driver sat in an armored, sleek limosine and a Family enforcer opened the door for Ian, before sliding in after him. 

He directed the driver to the east side of the city, a poorer residential district, but one still managing to struggle and succeed against poverty and low level gangs.  He stopped them outside of a non-descript apartment building and got out, instructing his body guard to stay behind. 

He dialed an apartment on the third floor on the intercom.  A man’s voice answered.

“Who is it?”

“Ian.”

There was a long pause.  Ian could imagine the emotions flashing across the dark face that owned the voice.  A part of him did not want to let Ian up.  Then the harsh buzzer sounded, and Ian pulled open the metal grated door.  He rode an old elevator up to the third floor, walked down the warn, but neat hallway, and knocked on one of the doors.  The dark man opened it.

“I don’t know how I can help you, Ian,” the young man said cautiously.  He stood blocking the door.

“May I come in?”

Another pause, then a sigh, and the man stepped aside.  Ian walked in and the man closed the door behind him.

“Thank you, Ajit,” Ian said.  He looked seriously at the man.  He meant it.  Ajit just gave him a weary crooked smile and plopped onto a couch.  Ian settled himself across from him.  The furniture was used, and didn’t match, but it was clean and well taken care of and the small apartment was organized. 

“Seriously though, Ian,” Ajit said.  “I don’t think I can help you.”

“You don’t even know why I’m here yet,” Ian chuckled.  “You’re the only one I can trust, Ajit.”

“Well soon I’m gonna be the last one you can trust,” Ajit scoffed.

“That won’t be true,” Ian waved the thought away.

“Oh yes it will,” Ajit said.  “I’m going to be one of the good guys.  I’m already a cop; I’m going to be a full blown detective soon.”

“I like being friends with the good guys,” Ian shrugged casually.  “You can trust them.”

Ajit raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t think crime lords that trust cops last long.”

Ian shook his head and leaned back in the chair. 

“With the good guys, you always know what they’re after,” he explained.  “You always know their end game.  Not as many nasty surprises.”

“You been nastily surprised recently?” Ajit asked, his voice falling into a more serious tone.

“Maybe,” Ian replied.  “Did you hear about Hans Metzger’s murder?”

“Just happened this morning, didn’t it?” Ajit asked.  Ian nodded.  “Heard he got killed.  Don’t know any of the details.”

“I do.”  Ian pulled an orange envelope from inside his large coat’s pocket.  “I have some pictures of the scene here.”

“You shouldn’t have those!” Ajit scolded.  “How did you even get them?”

Ian scowled.

“Do you want to see them or not?”

Ajit scowled back at him, but Ian knew his curiosity would get the better of him.

“Yes,” he finally replied.

With a triumphant little smile, Ian slid the pictures from the envelope and set them on the low coffee table between them.  Ajit reached out eagerly and began sifting through them.  He let out a low whistle.

“Oh…”

“This was a magic user, right,” Ian asked.  Ajit nodded, eyes still glued to the images before him.

“Most definitely,” he replied.  “Or someone that knew a bit about us.  Which—” he shrugged “—is rare in Staonia.”

Ajit continued sifting, sorting, and rearranging the photos before him, completely enthralled.  As Ian watched, a soft light flickered in Ajit’s eyes.  The photos skimmed across the coffee table with barely a touch from his hands and the tips of his fingers began to glow almost unperceptively. 

Ian caught one of Ajit’s wrists, stopping it.  The man’s head jerked up to meet Ian’s eyes, and the light faded.

“Careful,” Ian said lowly.  Ajit shook Ian off. 

“It’s just you.”

“It won’t always be.” Ian continued looking at Ajit seriously until the other man broke eye contact.  Ian sat back.  Ajit went back to the photos, much more slowly this time.  He organized them clearly, then left them.

“The liver was also taken,” Ian said, breaking the silence.

“Makes sense,” Ajit replied.  “Something this time consuming and precise, the killer was after a powerful spell and livers can feature prominently in those.”

“Do you know what that spell might be?”

Ajit laughed, short and bitter and looked up at Ian.  He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms.

“Oh no,” he said.  “That’s enough freebies.  Why are you so interested in this case?”

Ian smiled almost guiltily.  Ajit never did allow himself to be kept in the dark, even when he knew he didn’t actually want to know.

“Bad feeling.”

“Why?” Ajit pressed.

“There are people in the Family I can’t trust.”

“So?  It’s a crime family.  That’s normal.”

Ian sighed.  He pressed his lips together, organizing his thoughts. 

“I distrust certain members,” he began.  “And not passively.  There is a plot against me, I know that— “

“You always think there’s a plot against you.”

“There usually is,” Ian replied with a raised eye brow and continued.  “I don’t however, know what it entails, who’s behind it exactly, and how far along it is.  A disproportionate number of magic-users work for members of the Eisenmann Family.  Hans Metzger was a prominent young man in charge of a powerful family, with, of course, ties to the Eisenmann Family.

“I do not know what exactly I think is happening, but something is.”

He finished his though and looked at Ajit.  The man was leaning forward, fingers steepled in front of his lips, much as Ian had sat when speaking to the slim detective earlier today.

“So you want to figure out who is behind this and why, to see if it has anything to do with you,” Ajit said.

“Yes.”

Ajit nodded slowly.

“I’ll have to do some research,” he said.  “A couple spells come to mind, but I want to be more thorough.  I’ll contact you when I have a list.” 

Ian nodded.

“Thank you, Ajit.” He clasped the darker man’s shoulder and stood up. 

“Of course, Ian,” Ajit said sincerely.  “I know we’ve gone different ways, but I’m still here for you.”

Ian smiled.

“And I for you.”  Ian moved towards the exit but stopped before reaching the front door and turned back.  “One more thing,” he said.  “Have you heard of a Detective Hidashi Sato?”

Ajit’s eyebrow’s rose.

“Of course.  He’s the best homicide detective in the city,” Ajit said.  He motioned to the pictures before him.  “Is this his case?”

“Yes, he came and spoke to me earlier,” Ian said, thinking back to the lean, dark haired man.  “What do you know about him?”

“Well, like I said,” Ajit shrugged.  “Best homicide detective in the city.  I’m hoping to get his precinct when I finish training to be a detective myself.  He’s got this highly trained dog, usually doesn’t work with a human partner.  Top of his class back in the Academy, almost perfect marksmanship but kind of famous for hating to use his gun.”

“That’s what you know about his career, not what you know about him.”

“He basically is his career,” Ajit said defensively.  “He works more overtime than the city is willing to pay him.”

“Hm, a workaholic?” Ian mused.  He had to smile in bitter amusement.  Hidashi Sato wasn’t the only one who lived his work.

“Yeah.  Can’t imagine he liked you much,” Ajit chuckled.  Ian frowned.

“Why do you say that?”

“The man spends almost his every waking hour trying to make this city a better place,” Ajit said.  “And you spend every waking hour making it worse.”

Ian frowned harder.

“Well, I think that’s oversimplifying it a bit much, don’t you?” he asked lowly.

Ajit just shrugged, unperturbed. 

“Either way, I can’t imagine you’ll be friends.”

Ian shrugged and turned back to the door.

“I don’t know.”  He opened it up.  “Like I said: I like the good guys.”


	2. Friends Not in the Administration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Welcome back friends! I’m glad to see you. 
> 
> A quick note, I meant to have trigger warnings in the beginning of all my chapters, but forgot for the last one. I will do my best to remember from here on out.
> 
> Chapter Warning: none
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter 2

Friends Not in the Administration

 

Hidashi pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.  He sighed and massaged it lightly, then looked up at the whiteboard before him.  He leaned back in the office chair and swiveled to and fro slightly as he studied it.

On it he’d pinned pictures of the victim and people affiliated with him, drawing with marker the connections between them.  It was a depressingly empty board; he was trying to put together a puzzle without all the pieces. 

The inscrutable face of Ian Eisenmann continually drew Hidashi’s gaze.  It stared down at him, blank and unseeing, but, as the man had looked at him yesterday, strangely penetrating.

“Did you stay here all night?” 

Hidashi turned in his chair to see Detective Tan striding towards him, jacket over his broad shoulder. 

“Of course not,” Hidashi scowled.  “No one’s of any use when they’re tired.”  But he knew the slight bags under his eyes belied his strict tone.  Tan gave him a skeptical look, but didn’t comment. 

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Hidashi said, standing just as Tan sat.  “We’re going to go talk to the Administration of Magic Users.  See if they can shed some light on the cause of death.”

“Sounds like you got some leads,” called an unpleasant voice.

Hidashi stiffened, and looked coolly at Detective Mubari as the big officer strode over.  He didn’t seem to notice the chill in Hidashi’s eyes right away.  “Was Eisenmann helpful?”

“Next time you want to size up the latest mob boss, do it yourself,” Hidashi replied.  Mubari’s chipper attitude dropped.

“If I sent you in knowing that, he would have picked up on it— “

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Hidashi cut in.  “You are in no position to ‘send’ me anywhere.  You are not my superior.  You are a colleague, whom I accepted help from, which you exploited.  And unfortunately your ploy was see through enough that Eisenmann picked up on it anyway.  He was not impressed.”

Mubari frowned hard at him, and Tan, still seated in his chair stared up with his mouth hanging ajar.  Before the older detective could formulate his reply, Hidashi picked up his coat and walked towards the door. 

“Akia.  Tan.”  Akia popped up from her bed beside his desk and trotted after him.  A moment late, Tan scrambled from his seat and after him, shooting Mubari a half apologetic half criticizing look. 

 

* * *

 

 

The capitol buildings of Staonia rose up in the middle of the city and dwarfed all the buildings around it.  Since their construction, taller buildings had been built here in the capitol city, but they were in the financial district, far from the center of administration and bureaucracy.  These were built in another time, and their beautifully maintained architecture reflected that, all grand arches and ornate buttresses. 

Hidashi and Tan pushed through the crowd of suited men and women, striding over stone smooth with centuries of traffic to the busy receptionist’s desk.  Akia stayed close to Hidashi’s heels, head and ears down and eyes darting nervously at the huge multitude of people around them.  Hidashi flashed his badge to the receptionist.

“Administration of Magic Users?”

“Fourth floor,” the woman said immediately, eyes widening slightly at their badges.  But the two detectives just kept walking to the many elevators lining one of the walls.  These lifts were huge and slid up and down their corridors with no grating against the walls or even any cables to groan in protest.  They had been spelled into existence and function long ago, when magic users were slaves to the powerful, and not the distrusted minority of current times.  To this day, the capitol buildings were heavy with magic, while modern buildings and businesses tended to keep it out of sight or eschew it all together. 

Arriving at their floor, the three of them stepped out into a much emptier reception area.  A few people walked through the lobby, a couple older men spoke in a corner, and a well dressed woman in a pencil skirt sat reading a magazine with her legs crossed on one of the chairs.  Behind a desk sat a young man typing away on a computer. 

“Excuse me,” Hidashi said, and the young man looked up.  “I’m Detective Sato and this is Detective Tan.  We need to speak to someone regarding a murder the night before last.”

The young man blanched and his eyes darted between the two of them.  He didn’t even bother to stand up. 

“Um, well, what exactly were you looking to speak to someone about?”

“We have reason to believe a magic user may have been involved and we need advice on what their motive might have been,” Hidashi replied.  The young man’s expression shuttered immediately. 

“Do you have an appointment with anyone,” he asked politely.  Hidashi frowned.

“We’re investigating a murder, we don’t need an appointment,” Tan said, putting his hand on the desk before them and stepping up to Hidashi’s side. 

“Well I’m afraid everyone here is very busy,” the receptionist said.  “There is simply no one you can speak to at the moment.”

“Yes, there is,” Hidashi said firmly, letting an edge creep into his voice.  “I don’t want to argue with you, so go find someone to speak with us now, please.”

The man pressed his lips together in a thin line and just barely managed to school his expression into something slightly politer than a glare.  He stood up and inclined his head with a tight lipped smile. 

“Please take a seat, and I’ll fetch someone for you,” he said.  And then he left through a door behind his desk.

“That was weird,” Tan said, frowning after him. 

“It certainly was,” Hidashi agreed, sitting on one of the plush chairs of the waiting room.  He had a feeling it would be quite some time before the man managed to ‘fetch someone’ for them.

“He clammed up as soon as we said we thought a duster— “

“’Duster’, Tan?” Hidashi snapped, nose wrinkled at the term.  “Really?”

“Sorry,” Tan apologized, head bowing sheepishly.  “Old habits.  Anyway, as soon as we said we thought a magic user was involved.  It’s not like we said we thought _he_ was involved.”

“No,” Hidashi said.  “It’s not.”  He didn’t elaborate and instead stared after the receptionist and scratched between Akia’s ears.  

Forty minutes passed before the young man returned.

“Someone will be with you shortly,” he said, and Tan groaned under his breath at the trite words. 

An hour crawled away, and a middle aged woman with her hair pulled back tight exited the door and walked towards them.

“Detectives,” she said, holding out her hand.  “I’m Melissa Calright, why don’t you come with me to my office.”

They shook her hand and followed her down a hallway and into a medium sized office with a heavy oak desk.  She sat behind it and Tan and Hidashi sat in the over stuffed leather chairs across from her. 

“Thank you for meeting with us, Ms. Calright,” Hidashi said.  “We’re hoping you can shed some light on what we’re seeing here.  May I show you some pictures?”

Hidashi pulled out an orange envelope of crime scene photos.  Calright frowned and held up her hand before he could open it.

“Before you do that, what exactly are you hoping for from me?”

“We have reason to believe the victim was killed as part of some sort of spell,” Tan elaborated.  “We’re hoping you can shed some light on what that spell might be.  It’ll help us figure out motive, which could point us to a killer.”

“Oh I’m sorry, but I can’t help you with that,” the woman said, folding her hands in front of her on the desk. 

“Excuse me?” Hidashi asked, raising his eyebrows.

“I can’t help you with that.  I’m not a magic user, I know nothing of spells.”

“We just waited for two hours,” Tan argued in disbelief. 

“I’m sorry, but I simply can’t help you,” the woman shook her head with wide, faux-apologetic eyes. 

“Well could you put us in touch with a magic user here who can help us,” Hidashi asked, struggling to keep his tone professional and not exasperated.  Calright frowned. 

“There are no magic users here,” she said, as though that were obvious. 

“This is the _Administration of Magic Users_ ,” Hidashi said.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean they work here,” she replied.  “And neither do bus drivers work in the office of the Administration of Public Transportation.”

“Surely there is someone here with some experience or knowledge,” Tan cut in, before Hidashi could snap back. 

“Well Mr. Yure is more of an expert on these things,” she said.  She stood, walked around her desk, and opened the door for them.  “If you’ll return back to the waiting room, I’ll see if he can meet with you.”

She was kicking them out but there was no point in arguing, so they stood and exited through the door she held open for them.

“Thank you, Ms. Calright, and thank you for your time,” Tan said.  Hidashi didn’t bother with the pleasantries, and merely scowled as they returned once more to the waiting room they had already spent almost two hours in. 

Another hour and Hidashi buried himself in his phone, sifting through the emails that always seem to pile up.  He spent a long time looking at an email he himself had drafted and sent to another detective, detailing a case he had had to give up.  The case had been turning cold, and the chief had wanted him on things that were hot.  So he’d gathered all his evidence and given it to the other detective along with an email detailing his current theories.

Maria Casana.  A teenage girl, gunned down in the street blocks from her home.  No witnesses.  Very little forensic evidence.  The current detective hadn’t made much headway since Hidashi had handed over the case, and Hidashi still found himself pouring over his thoughts and evidence whenever he had a spare moment, like maybe if he just stared at it all long enough some hidden secret would finally reveal itself. 

“Detectives Sato and Tan?”

Hidashi jolted in surprise as an older gentleman with a somewhat unkempt salt and pepper beard appeared in the waiting room, and held a door into the hallway open for them.

“I’m Ralph Yure,” the man continued.  “I understand you have some questions regarding spells.  We can speak in my office.”

They followed him into an office almost identical to that of Melissa Calright’s, and sat in almost identically uncomfortably leather chairs.

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with us,” Hidashi said, having recovered his manners.  He pulled out the envelope, and slid out the photos without waiting this time.  “I’d like to show you some photos of what we’re dealing with.”

“By all means,” Yure waved towards his mostly clear desk and Hidashi spread the crime scene photos out before him.  The older man drew back with a grimace.  “Good lord.”

“We’d like to know what sort of spell the murderer might have been hoping to cast with this,” Hidashi said, cutting straight to the chase.

“And what in the world makes you think this murder had anything to do with spells?” Yure snapped, gingerly shoving the images farther out of his eyesight.

“The very precise nature of the incisions and the removal and theft of the liver,” Hidashi said calmly, pushing a particularly explicit image closer to Yure even as the man pulled back from it.

“If that’s all you have than there’s no evidence to say that it wasn’t just some sort of psychopath,” Yure protested.

“Magic users are a little bit more common than psychopaths,” Tan noted dryly.  Yure scowled. 

“Indeed.  But no, I’m sorry, I must disagree.”  Yure stubbornly pushed the photographs back to Hidashi.  “I see nothing here to convince me that this is in fact the work of a magic user.”

“So even if you were to entertain the theory that this man was killed by a magic user, you couldn’t even begin to guess what spell he could be casting?” Hidashi asked with a raised eyebrow.  Yure narrowed at his eyes at him and stood up. 

“No.  I could not.  And I will not entertain such a reaching and preposterous theory,” he said.  He gathered the images into a neat pile and shoved them back into Hidashi’s hands.  “If you come up with any concrete proof, feel free to return.  Until then, I think you should leave.”

Hidashi sighed and returned the photos to his envelope. 

“Yes, I think we should,” he agreed. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Well that was startlingly ineffectual,” Hidashi grumbled, falling heavily into his chair back at the precinct.  Akia curled up on her bed at his feet, as he dragged his hand over his face.

“You can say that again,” Tan muttered.  “Who knew the Administration of Magic Users would have so many dicks?”

“Politics,” Hidashi said, leaning back in his chair.  He closed his eyes and massaged his temples lightly. 

“Right.  Want some coffee?” Tan asked as Hidashi heard him stand up.

“Yes, please.  That would be wonderful.”

Hidashi listened to his footsteps recede, and then the busy, pleasantly familiar buzz of the precinct.  His sleepless night compounded with the frustration of wasted hours at the seat of bureaucracy left him more tired and aching than he’d been before.  Tan’s heavy footsteps returned, but the expected tap of the mug being set down on his desk didn’t come. 

“Did you write something on the board?” Tan asked, his voice heavy with confusion.  Hidashi frowned and didn’t look up.

“I wrote everything on that damn board,” he replied.

“But, what does this mean?”

“What does what mean?” Hidashi snapped, his irritation getting the better of him and he spun in his chair to face the board.  Tan pointed with a hand still holding a coffee mug to a scrawl of writing in black marker under the infuriating picture of Ian Eisenmann.  He frowned and stood up to look at it closer.  A strange feeling of hot and cold curled through his gut.

_Long day, Detective?  That drink is still free whenever you want it._

“Hey!” Hidashi swung around to get the attention of all the other officers and detectives around his work area.  “Hey, has anyone written anything on this board?”  The other officers looked around and then back at him.  “Has anyone seen someone near this board?”  A few shook their head.

“No, sorry, Sato.”

“No, no one.”

“Do you know what it’s talking about?” Tan asked.

“I have an idea,” Hidashi muttered.  He erased the writing in a quick sweep of the eraser and then sat back in his chair, holding out his hand for the mug of coffee Tan still held and pulling out an old case file.  He glanced at Akia, who was sitting peacefully on her bed, gnawing on a bone Hidashi kept next to the desk.  She clearly didn’t smell or sense anything out of place; she hadn’t reacted at all.    

“Well, is it a lead?  Or a tip?” Tan sat at his desk and continued staring at Hidashi, who stopped pretending to be engaged with his file.  Was it a lead or a tip?  It claimed to be certainly; Eisenmann was insinuating that he knew the Administration had been a waste of time and he could offer something better.  The truth of that insinuation was another matter entirely. 

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted.  He took a more careful sip of his coffee.  “It’s the Eisenmann boss playing games.  Whether or not we’d get something out of that game, I don’t know, but I’d rather not play it unless we have to.”

“The boss?” Tan asked, eyes going wide.  “Why would the boss care?”

Hidashi shifted uncomfortably, thinking about Eisenmann’s strange behavior, and eventually just shrugged. 

“That’s a good question,” he said, and left it at that.  Detective Tan got the hint and they began pouring through research: similar case files, what little information on magic the internet provided, university related and private researchers of magic.  Hidashi remembered a professor from his own time at the Staonian Capitol University that had been particularly fascinated by the culture of Iban and the magic it was so much more comfortable with, but he had died years ago and no one had picked up his research since.  Libraries and other public sources of information had purged everything they had on spells when magic users had been outlawed, and had only recently started collecting it again ten years ago at the passing of the Fair Treatment and Equal Humans Act.

Hours passed with no luck, and Hidashi resorted to pacing before his board, nursing his third cup of coffee.  Akia picked up on his state of distress, and stayed curled up on her bed, ears down.  Tan wasn’t doing much better, but having been more effective at cutting himself off from caffeine than Hidashi was, he didn’t look like he had the energy to rise from his desk chair. 

So caught up in his own thoughts, Hidashi didn’t notice when a tall, dark woman with close cropped hair strode up to the front of his desk.

“Detective Sato,” she said, voice ringing with authority.  “I hear you have a lead.”

“Chief?” Hidashi frowned.

“We don’t have anything, ma’am,” Tan said, standing.  Police Chief Imani Johnson was a woman people stood up around. 

“Someone wrote something on your board, didn’t they?”  She crossed her arms over her chest.  Hidashi sighed.

“Yes, ma’am, but— “

“Look, I don’t care if it’s ideal,” she said, softening her voice away from utter authority to something more understanding, if firm.  “But one of the most powerful men in the city was killed two days ago and we have almost nothing to show for it.”  Hidashi winced.  “The mayor is breathing down my neck, and I don’t want him breathing down yours next.  Now, whatever that was—” she nodded to the board “—I need you to follow it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hidashi said.  She nodded smartly, and returned to her office, heels clicking on the linoleum floor as she walked away.  Hidashi lifted is coat from the back of his chair and swung it over his shoulders.  “I guess I’m going out.”

“Where exactly are you going?” Tan asked.

“The Gentleman’s Gambit.”

“What?  No, are you crazy?” Tan stepped swiftly between their desks, effectively blocking Hidashi’s path.  “You can’t go back there.  Is that what that thing was asking you to do?”  He gestured to the board. 

“Yes,” Hidashi replied.  He didn’t try to push Tan out of the way.  “And don’t worry, I don’t think Eisenmann means to hurt me.” 

“What the hell makes you think that?”

“Because you know exactly where I’m going, Tan.  If anything happens to me you’ll know exactly who did it,” Hidashi explained.  “Even a crime family wouldn’t be that blatant when killing a cop.” 

“Let me come with you,” Tan insisted, grabbing his coat.  Hidashi put a hand on his arm. 

“No.  It doesn’t work if you come with me,” he said.  “Stay here.  I’ll call you when I get there.  And if in two hours I don’t call you again, alert the chief and send in backup.  Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Tan sighed.  He stepped out of Hidashi’s way.  “Be careful.”  Hidashi couldn’t stop the smile when he nodded back.  It was the second time he’d had someone tell him to be careful in as many days; it was kind of nice.

 

* * *

 

 

Without Tan to park the car for him, Hidashi had to choose between driving up to the front of the card joint to use the valet parking, or find his own street parking a block or so away.  He figured that if he needed to leave in a pinch, he’d rather have his car accessible albeit a little bit farther, than close but held hostage.  And he didn’t want to draw attention to himself by driving up to a crime family’s front in what was basically a squad car. 

Still though, even after parking the car out of sight and walking up to the building dressed at least somewhat inconspicuously, a large man in a suit stopped him upon approach. 

“Detective Sato?”  Maybe it was the dog.

“Yes,” Hidashi nodded. 

“The boss is expecting you, please follow me.”

The Gentleman’s Gambit picked up significantly on a Friday night, as compared to the middle of the week daytime when Hidashi had been here last.  He had to stay close to his escort to avoid losing him in the crowd and haze of cigarette smoke.  Sultry music played at a level loud enough to be heard, but not so loud as to impede conversation.  Hidashi’s trained eyes spotted more than a few men packing heat just under their nice clothing.

The hallway leading to Eisenmann’s office though was just as empty as before save for the two enforcers guarding the door.  Hidashi’s escort knocked lightly when they reached it and called through the wood,

“Your detective, sir.”

Hidashi bristled.

“Send him in.” 

One of the enforcers opened the door for him, and Hidashi swept in with a tight jaw, not even bothering to glance at the man who closed the door behind him.

“’Your detective’?” Hidashi repeated, raising an eyebrow.  Eisenmann sat in the exact same position with the exact same poise as when Hidashi had been in here the day before.  Relaxed, self assured, dark eyes pinned on him.

“And what’s wrong with that,” Eisenmann replied, raising an eyebrow.  He stood gracefully and motioned to the couch beside the coffee table to the side of the room.  “Please, have a seat.” 

Hidashi kept his mouth shut at the comment, refusing to rise to the bait, and sat in the armchair across from the couch.  Eisenmann just smiled slightly.  Almost to Hidashi’s chagrin, the chair was incredibly comfortable and his body wished to melt into it after the long day he had had and was continuing to have.

“I hope you like whiskey,” Eisenmann said, moving to the little table beside the couch that held a crystal decanter and glasses. 

“How very Ibanese,” Hidashi noted. 

“Only the best.”  Eisenmann tipped the decanter to him in a sort of salute and then poured two generous servings.  He set one down before Hidashi, and sat in the couch Hidashi had declined.  “Tell me detective, do you get out much?”

“Out?” Hidashi repeated, sniffing the amber liquid.  It was undoubtedly a fine Ibanese vintage, but all Hidashi could think was that it smelled like whiskey.  He tasted some, burned like whiskey, too; he almost wrinkled his nose.

“Out of the office?” Eisenmann leaned back, crossing his legs and stretching an arm out across the couch, carelessly elegant in a studiously calculated way.  “Out of your apartment?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Hidashi pointed out. 

Eisenmann snorted.

“I bribed you out with promises of help for a case, that hardly counts.”

Seizing his opening, Hidashi set the distasteful drink back on the table in front of him and leaned forward.

“Speaking of which, what is it exactly you know regarding this case?”

“Oh no, detective,” Eisenmann laughed.  He motioned to Hidashi’s glass.  “Drink first, case later.  And before you simply swallow it—” Hidashi paused in his motion to grab the whiskey and do just that”—I would remind you that this is a Cabello 57 and I am going to sip it slowly like one should.  We can talk business when we’re both done.”

Hidashi sighed, and leaned back into the sinfully comfortable chair.  He swirled the alcohol around in its crystal glass.  He supposed it would be good for the development of his palate if he at least tried to appreciate the vintage; it wasn’t like he’d get another glass of it for free anywhere else. 

“If we’re not talking business,” Hidashi asked.  “What are we talking?”

“Pleasure, of course,” Eisenmann replied immediately, a smirk sliding across his face as though he’d been waiting for that question.  A shiver shook its way up Hidashi’s spine.  He narrowed his eyes.

“The pleasure of a glass of whiskey and comfortable furniture?” Hidashi asked, an edge of challenge in his voice.

“And delightful company.”  Eisenmann stood fluidly and stalked around the table.  Before he could get any closer to Hidashi though, Akia blocked his path with a growl, hackles raised. 

Eisenmann looked down on her with surprise, as though he had forgotten she was there.  Hidashi didn’t move or say anything, content to sit calmly and watch his dog stare the mob boss down.  Eisenmann raised an eyebrow at him pointedly, and Hidashi merely raised one back.  When it became clear that Akia had no intention of moving, and Hidashi had no intention of making her, Eisenmann sighed.

“Care to call off your body guard?” he asked.  “I called off mine after all.”  Hidashi frowned.  It was true, the enforcers were no longer in the room with them and Hidashi had even been allowed to keep his gun.  At this point he was fairly certain the crime boss was not going to physically harm him, but the way that he looked at him still put his teeth on edge.

“Care to return to your seat?” he replied instead.  Eisenmann scowled.

“You sound like a flight attendant.”

“Which makes you the annoying passenger no one likes.”

“Call off your dog, Detective Sato.  I’m not going to hurt you.”  The sneer in his voice at the end left Hidashi two choices: continue to let Akia stare him back into his seat and admit that maybe yes, he was scared the other man would hurt him, or call Akia off and give the man what he wanted but not admit to any fear.

He settled with tilting his head with a neutral expression and sighing. 

“Akia,” he said sharply.  “Down.” 

Akia whined a little, but obediently lay down at Hidashi’s feet, eyes and ears still riveted to Eisenmann.  The Ibanese man smiled and continued towards him.

“As I said, delightful company.”  Eisenmann walked around his chair and let his fingers drag along the back of it.  Hidashi loathed letting him out of his sight, but didn’t give the other man the pleasure of turning around uncomfortably in his seat to look at him.  “You live alone, detective?”

“With Akia, yes.”

“She’s quite the companion.”

“She is.”

“Pity though,” Eisenmann continued.  A cool, calloused hand suddenly stroked down Hidashi’s neck, gripped his jaw and turned his head to look up at the taller man.  “A man like you sleeping alone.”

Hidashi froze. 

Tendril’s of ice wound up through his stomach.  His skin burned where the other man’s fingers pressed. 

His heart pounded.

“What the fuck are you getting at?” Hidashi yanked his face away and scrambled to his feet, pushing from the chair and putting as much distance between him and the hardened criminal as possible, appearances be damned.  Akia followed at his heels.

“I’d thought that was pretty clear,” Eisenmann chuckled, eyes dancing as he watched Hidashi struggle to calm himself and keep his chest from heaving.

“Don’t ever touch me again.”

Eisenmann’s eyes widened at that, but he held his hands up peacefully, one still gripping the crystal glass.

“Not unless you beg me,” he replied.

“Don’t hold your breath,” Hidashi sneered, heart rate slowing down, and the sweat that had beaded on his neck and collar beginning to evaporate.

“We’ll see,” Eisenmann allowed.  He still held his hands up, and Hidashi felt the tiniest stab of gratitude that he did.  The taller man nodded to Hidashi’s glass, forgotten on the table.  “Would you like to finish your drink?”

“No.”

“Not a fan of whiskey, or not a fan of this conversation any longer.”

“Both,” Hidashi ground out. 

Eisenmann nodded. 

“Fair enough.”  Despite what he’d said earlier, Eisenmann downed the glass in his hand smoothly, and then reached for Hidashi’s on the table and did the same.  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand but somehow still managed to make the motion look sophisticated.  “Business then?”

“What?” Hidashi asked, still unbalanced from the whole exchange even as his breathing and heart rate had returned to normal.  “Why would I continue to want anything to do with you?”

“Because I know what spell the murderer cast,” Eisenmann replied easily.  “Or rather, I know someone who knows what spell the murderer cast.  And I think you’ll like him much more than you like me.”

Hidashi mulled that over for a moment.  He wanted to leave this front and whole Eisenmann Crime Family behind and never look back.  After the man had pulled that stunt Hidashi had thought he didn’t have anything at all and merely wanted to get Hidashi alone.  But that didn’t seem to be entirely the case, and Hidashi had come down here because Chief Johnson wasn’t accepting ‘no’ for an answer, and that was unlikely to have changed.  So he took a deep breath, and let it out in a sigh.

“Well I don’t think that’s saying much,” he muttered in reply to his previous comment. 

Eisenmann smiled wryly. 

“No, I don’t think so either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So there’s the second chapter! Thanks so much for reading. It’s been an interesting stretch and exercise getting back into a WIP way of writing, but I think I’m enjoying it so far. 
> 
> None of Ian’s point of view in this chapter, but we’ll start off next chapter with it ;) 
> 
> I would love to hear any thoughts/advice/encouragement you have! Have a wonderful rest of your week. 
> 
> Much Love,  
> ~Eryn Ivers


	3. Friends With Just Livers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello lovelies! I apologize that these chapters just seem to be getting shorter and shorter. I’ve had problem in the past with trying to cram too much into chapters and I seem to be over compensating. 
> 
> But, enough chatter and excuses. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Chapter Warning: references to nonconsensual drug use and slavery (very mild references)

Chapter 3

Friends with Just Livers

 

Ian lead the way from his office with Detective Sato and his attack dog trailing after him, the taste of whiskey still strong as bile in his mouth.  He liked whiskey as much as any good Ibanese man, but the hastily swallowed Cabello sat heavy on his tongue. 

“Kurt,” he called to one of his enforcers.  “Call my driver.”

“I’ll take my own car,” Sato spoke up from behind him.  Ian kept his face studiously smooth, but inwardly frowned at the proposal.  He couldn’t let the detective slip away so soon after their exchange.  The other man would only sit and stew and think about how distasteful he found Ian.  Ian had wanted to throw the detective, but not away.

“You don’t know where we’re going,” Ian reminded him.

“You can tell me.”

“Or you can join me in my own much more comfortable car.”

“I’d rather not.”

“I don’t care.” 

Ian continued to lead the way to the back exit of the card house, where an SUV with tinted windows sat waiting.  A bodyguard exited the shotgun seat and opened the back door for them.  Ian motioned for Sato first, but the detective hesitated.

“Hands to myself, I promise,” Ian assured him.

“I want to call my partner to meet me wherever we’re going,” Sato said firmly.  “This pertains to a case to which we are both assigned and he should be present at any fact gathering.”

“Fair enough,” Ian conceded.  “You may call him after we’re on our way and I tell you where we’re going.”

Sato stared at him for a little while longer, and Ian did not move under the scrutiny.  The other man’s distrust ran deep, and Ian had deepened it with his stunt back in the office.  Finally, the detective waved his attack dog into the vehicle.  Sato slid in after her, and then Ian, who sat on the bench of seats facing the detective, his back to the driver.  The enforcer closed the door, and they pulled away from the building.

“Now where are we going?” Sato demanded as soon as they pulled onto the main streets.

“Freedom Park,” Ian replied. 

Sato’s eye brows raised.

“Why?”

Ian almost smiled at the question, the first word the detective had spoken to him that wasn’t carefully calculated and laced with suspicion.  He shrugged instead.

“Because that’s where my contact wanted to meet,” he said.  “He likes the place and what it stands for.  And it’s neutral ground for all of us.”

The detective seemed to accept this, and brought his phone to his ear.  After a few moments he spoke into it.

“Tan, meet me at Freedom Park.  I’m fine.  Ten minutes.”

He hung up. 

He looked out the window, and Ian looked at him.

He buried his hand in the long fur between his dog’s shoulder blades, in what was probably an absentminded gesture but that Ian read as a plea for stability.  Ian had to give him credit though, he sat remarkably calmly for a cop in the tinted depths of a mob boss’s car.  He found it remarkably attractive.

“You like the power of it.” 

It took Ian a moment to realize the lips he had been tracing with his eyes had spoken.

“Come again?”

“The power,” Sato repeated, looking away from the window to face Ian.  “That’s what you get out of all of this.”

“All of what,” Ian asked with a smile, pleased the detective was making conversation. 

“Bringing me down to your headquarters, forcing me to have a drink, to take your car,” Sato said.  “You don’t care that I do these things, only that you can make me.”

“Or maybe I just want you to have a drink and nice ride with me,” Ian pointed out.

“Except you’re a crime— “

“I’m not a criminal,” Ian interrupted to point out the technicality; one could never be too careful with what they allowed cops to say.

“Not a convicted one,” Sato amended with narrowed eyes.  “A boss though.”  He leaned back in the leather seats of Ian’s SUV and crossed his arms over his lean chest.  “And what more power hungry profile is there than the mob boss?”

Ian mimicked the detective’s position by leaning back but laid his arms out over the top of his seat in a more open position.

“Well, I won’t deny power’s appeal,” Ian said.  “I learned very early on that one’s choices were to either become powerful, or allow others to exert their power over you.”

Sato scowled.

“And now you believe yourself powerful enough to exert it over others,” he said.  Ian smiled.

“I am powerful enough,” he reminded him, feeling a thrill of self satisfaction at saying the words he knew to be true. Sato didn’t reply, and went back to staring out the window as they passed through the familiar center of the city towards Freedom Park. 

They arrived, and Detective Sato immediately pulled on the door handle, only to find it locked.  He raised an eyebrow at Ian challengingly, and he smiled smugly back.

“I have one last question, detective,” Ian said.

“And what would that be?”

“Why attempt to psychologically profile my motivations towards you, and ignore the most obvious possible reason?”

“Which would be?” Sato asked, his voice dropping into a lower register in his irritation.  Ian leaned towards him.   

“That I merely find myself attracted to you.”

Sato’s jaw tightened, he glowered at Ian refusing to move or, Ian thought, give him the dignity of a response.  The detective held himself so tautly, Ian thought he might snap, and when Ian reached across him he recoiled with startling intensity.  But Ian only rapped his knuckles on the glass of the tinted window, and an enforcer opened the door. 

Sato slipped from the car before the enforcer had even finished his task, and Ian smiled softly.  He followed at a sedate pace. 

“My contact will meet us by the fountain,” he said, coming around the car to stand abreast of the stiff detective.  “Is your partner here?”

The man relaxed slightly now that Ian returned to business.

“Yes, he’s standing there by the entrance.”  Sato gestured to the tall stone pillars that flanked the official entrance to Freedom Park, though there weren’t actually any fences, and the wrought iron gate that hung between them never closed.  Leaning against one of these pillars was a young, tall, broad shouldered man with hair near the dark shade of Sato’s. 

“Lead the way then, detective,” Ian offered with a polite nod.  They approached Sato’s partner, and Ian couldn’t stop the small smirk that spread across his face when the young man’s eyes widened comically at the sight of him. 

“Tan,” Sato said sharply, and like his attack dog would, the police detective’s eyes shot to his superior.  “This is Ian Eisenmann.  Mr. Eisenmann this is my partner Detective Tan.”

“A pleasure, Detective Tan,” Ian smiled cordially and extended his hand.  It took a few moments for Tan to realize he should shake that hand and then he did so quickly, squeezing tighter than Ian found necessary. 

“Mr.  Eisenmann, sir.  Erm, same,” he said.  He turned to Sato.  “What are we doing here?”

“Mr. Eisenmann has a contact he claims can tell us what spell the murderer killed Metzger for.”

“We’re to meet him by the fountain, and he’s likely already here,” Ian said.  “So shall we?”

Staonia was a much more diverse country than Iban had ever been, but even so Ajit’s dark skin made him easy to spot on approaching the center of the park.  As soon as he saw the three of them approach he stood to meet them. 

“Ajit, thank you for meeting with us,” Ian said, reaching out to shake his hand warmly.  Ajit pulled a face, but kept his expression still mostly neutral.

“Always happy to help with the legal things, Ian,” he replied.  Then he turned his attention to the two detectives.  “My name is Ajit Bhakta— “

“I’ve seen you before,” Sato cut him off with a frown.  Ajit practically beamed. 

“Yes,” he said.  “I’m a beat cop in the 14th precinct, but I’m training to be a detective.  I’m hoping to be assigned to your precinct when I finish next month, Detective Sato.”

Sato frowned and open his mouth to reply when Ian cut him off.

“Ajit and I have no business associations,” he said, looking at Sato sharply, who returned his look with equal sharpness.  “Of any kind.”

“I’m sure,” the detective replied.

Ajit shifted from foot to foot. 

“I understand your suspicion, but I promise I’m clean.  I hope I can prove that to you soon enough,” he said. 

“Well, let’s see what you’ve got,” Sato said, moving easily from the topic of Ajit’s loyalty, to the envelope he held in his hand.  Ian relaxed, and Ajit perked up.

“Of course,” he said, and gestured to a picnic table nestled in an out of the way alcove.  “Shall we sit?”

The settled themselves, Ian and Ajit on one side and the detectives on the other with similar looks of wariness.  Ajit crossed his arms on the table before them.

“To start off, how much do you know about magic?”

“Not much,” Sato replied.

“Only dusters can use it,” the other detective replied, eyes narrowed and Ian looked more closely to see his shoulders were tense, more suspicious than Ian had originally realized.

“Tan,” Sato snapped with enough vehemence to keep him in Ian’s good graces.  But the reprimand went unnoticed when a cold chill swept out from Ajit.

“Excuse me,” he hissed, seeming to rise in his seat as he stared down the taller man.  “Do you know where that term comes from?”

Detective Tan seemed almost taken aback by the reaction he’d caused, but his defensiveness kicked in before his sense.

“From the dust, of course— “

“That’s right, bindweed dust, or maybe someone like you would prefer the term ‘slave dust’,” Ajit continued with a condescending sneer that set Ian on edge, though he didn’t make any moves to calm him.  “And do you know what it was used for?”

“It just gets you high,” Tan replied, jaw clenching at Ajit’s clearly mocking tone.

“Wrong.  It forces magic-users to obey, like little puppies.  So we could build your damn buildings and fight your damn wars for you without complaint— “

“I didn’t— “

“So each time you call a magic user a duster, all you’re saying is that we’re still slaves— “

“I didn’t mean— “

“Don’t justify—“  
            “Enough!”  Sato stood, and slapped his hand firmly on the table.  He turned first to his junior partner.  “I expect more tact from you in the future, Tan,” he said, and then to Ajit.  “Suffice it to say that we know very little about magic, and please continue.”

Ian smirked at the last remnants of dark muttering from the two, and sent Sato an amused smile, but the man ignored him, instead retaking his seat and studiously avoiding Ian’s gaze.  Ajit recovered quickly, and ran his hand through is hair with a sigh.

“Right, well, the cliff notes version then,” he began.  “Magic users have some simple inborn abilities that we can do— “

“’We’?” Sato repeated with a raised eyebrow. 

Ajit shrugged sheepishly. 

“I thought that was probably obvious from my outburst.”

Sato gave him a half smile.

“It was,” he agreed.  “But good to be sure.”

Tan had the grace at least to look more ashamed of his previous words, and remained silent.  Ajit continued.

“Anyway, we have some inborn abilities; small things as mindless for us to do as walking, or carrying things.  Things like moving objects without touching them, or lighting a candle.

“Anything more interesting we have to use spells or enchantments for.  Enchantments imbue magical qualities into objects to create artifacts, which isn’t what we’re looking at here.  And a spell is anything that requires magic and a component, an ingredient of some sort, and isn’t an enchantment.  A spell is what we’re looking at here.”

“Go on,” Sato nodded, eyes sharp and soaking in Ajit’s every word.

“So I did some research on the information Ian was able to get for me— “

“I won’t ask where he came across any of that,” Sato muttered, finally shooting him a look.  Ian merely preened under the brief attention.

“And asked around a bit,” Ajit continued.  “And I’ve narrowed some things down.”  He pulled out the few pages of notes he’d tucked into the envelope. 

“Firstly,” he said.  “There’s the liver.  Any body part used in a spell is usually trying to call on some strength or attribute of the person it was taken from, exactly what attribute depends on what the part is.”

“And what does someone take a liver for?” Detective Tan asked, leaning forward, his curiosity apparently finally overcoming his stupidity. 

“Livers are affiliated with justice, the moral and ethical fabric of what we believe to be right and wrong.”

“Justice?” Tan guffawed.  “What do livers have to do with justice.  Wouldn’t eyes be better, justice being blind in all?” 

Ajit actually cracked a smile, and stifled a chuckle.

“Livers filter out the impurities we take into ourselves from the outside world and leave behind only the good,” he replied.

“So do the kidneys— “   

“Livers, justice, go on,” Sato prompted.

“Right.  So this means that whoever was casting the spell wanted to call on the victim’s sense of justice.”

“Hans Metzger was just the heir of a rich family,” Sato said.

“With magic user sympathies,” Ian cut in.  The three looked to him as though they’d forgotten his existence, and he felt a pang of annoyance, but let it slide.  He focused instead on Sato’s wary interest.  “He was very active behind closed political doors in the fight for magic users’ rights, and he’s hired more magic users and Ibanese than almost any other business venture.”

“Not including crime families, I assume?”  Sato asked innocently.

“I wouldn’t know,” Ian smiled.

“Well, you can look more into that on your own time,” Ajit said, glancing between the two of them. 

“That already gives us way more motive to go on than we had before,” Tan said, trying to get a look at Ajit’s notes, who tilted them out of his eye sight.

“Well there’s a little more,” he said with a note of self satisfaction.  “The vertical slice down the victim’s torso is incredibly precise, and indicates a level of ritual that you don’t see much nowadays, particularly in Staonia.  So the spell is most likely Ibanese in origin, and pretty old.  Given what we’ve already deduced from the liver, we’re left with this subset of spells.”

Here Ajit handed over his findings to Sato, the page on top containing a list of only a handful of spells. 

“You’re sure it’s one of these?” Sato asked.

“It’s impossible to know for sure, but I’m confident,” Ajit told him.  “I figure you don’t have much access to spell books, so I copied out the details for each one on separate pages.”

“And you do have that kind of access?” Sato asked, leafing through the sheaf curiously. 

Ajit shrugged.

“Underground magic users have to learn somewhere.”

“Underground, I assume,” Tan said, with a crooked smile, which Ajit returned.

“Precisely.”

“Well, I’m not particularly concerned where you got this information, I’m just pleased you have it,” Sato said, and Ajit straightened proudly under the praise.  Sato glanced at Ian.  “We’ll need to look into Metzger’s actions on the topic of magic user’s rights, see if there’s any truth to what you were saying.”

“And we should canvas neighborhoods with recent Ibanese immigrants,” Tan added.  “See if we can pick up any more leads there.”

“The ghettos,” Ajit provided with a grimace.  “The old magic user’s ghettos.  It’s where all Ibanese immigrants end up when they first get here.”

“A lot of immigrants end up on the East side too,” Tan said defensively. 

Ajit shook his head.

“Only Asheans.  Not the Ibanese.”

“You won’t be going there without an escort, detective,” Ian cut in smoothly, eyeing Sato.

“Excuse me?” Sato raised his eyebrows challengingly.

“You won’t be going to the ghetto without an escort of my men,” Ian clarified.

“And why not?” he indulged.  Ian saw Ajit shifting uncomfortably out of the corner of his eye.  He’d seen Ian set his sights on men before.

“Ian,” he muttered warningly.  “He’s a cop, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“Yes, Ian, I’ll be fine,” Sato simpered mockingly, a furious glint in his eye.  Ian did not back down.

“Cops are out of their element down there,” he said.  “To go alone would be foolish.”

“I’ll be with him,” Tan piped up, but visibly wilted back down when Ian shot him a withering glance.

“It’s not up for debate, detective,” he said, resting his elbows on his desk and steepling his long fingers.  “I can arrange an escort for you whenever you like.”

Sato stood in a flurry of movement.

“Enough of your games, Eisenmann,” he snarled.  “I’ve played them enough.  Back off.”

Ian stood to tower over him with his superior height.  The dog barked sharply but he ignored it.

“I am not playing games, detective,” he snapped back.  “I am deadly serious.”

“Deadly I have no doubt,” Sato growled.  His dark eyes flashed, strong jaw set, and his chest heaved with barely contained fury.  Ian fought urge to grab him, arousal shooting down his spine.  “I am doing my job, and it doesn’t involve catering to your fantasies.”  He turned to Ajit, who still sat at the table, slack jawed.  “Thank you for your help, it’s much appreciated.”

Then the detective spun on his heel, clutching the pages Ajit had given him, and Ian let out a shuddering breath.    

“Akia. Tan,” Sato called, striding away.  The two lackeys jumped to follow him, and left Ian clenching his fists.

“’I’m not playing games’, Ian, really?” Ajit scoffed when they had disappeared.  “That’s exactly what you’re doing and you know it.”

“The ghetto is a dangerous place— “

“There are good people down there,” Ajit argued.

“That doesn’t make it less dangerous,” Ian said.  “Especially for a detective that’ll ask too many questions and not know what he’s stepping into.”

“I told you, he’s the best homicide detective in the city, I think he knows what he’s doing,” Ajit sighed, and stood up.  “Give me a ride back to my apartment?”

“Of course,” Ian nodded and they headed back to where the black SUV was still parked. 

“Leave him alone and let him do his job, Ian,” Ajit continued, never one to let go of an argument with him.  “Stop playing your power games.”

Ian laughed at that, to Ajit’s surprise.

“You know, that’s exactly what he accused me of doing.”

“Because he’s smart,” Ajit muttered.

“And stubborn.  Now get in the car,” Ian motioned impatiently.  Ajit paused next to the door the enforcer held open. 

“Seriously, stop playing.”

“I will, Ajit,” Ian assured him, lips curling in a sneer, remembering the detective’s fierce eyes and the want they made pool in his gut.  “When I win.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Chapter 3 down and an undetermined amount to go! (I have the whole plot line planned out, just don’t have the prose actually written.) I apologize is this chapter seemed more roughly written than previous chapters, I got started late and didn’t edit it as rigorously as I would have liked. 
> 
> Thanks for reading though and I would love it if you dropped a review! ;)
> 
> Much Love,  
> ~Eryn Ivers


	4. Friends in Low Places

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Agh, I was running late and now I’m posting a chapter on a Tuesday night…because everyone has time to read fiction in the middle of the week… (if you do, more power to you, you’re doing life right I think!)
> 
> Anyway, people in my life are sad, this makes me sad, but two angsty, sexy men make me happy so on to the fun!
> 
> Chapter Warning: None (if someone reads this and disagrees with me I would really love to hear about it. There may be warnings that don’t occur to me because they don’t apply to me and I would love to be made aware of them.)

Chapter 4

Friends in Low Places

 

The capitol city of Staonia stood as a shining beacon of new democracy on the continent.  Flanked by the once grand, but now corrupt and bloated bear of Iban on one side, and the only ever partially stable city states of Ashea on the other, Staonia had a burgeoning new government and a flourishing economy to pay for it. 

A sound infrastructure kept the streets clean, the buildings up to code, and the public schools well taken care of.  Hidashi had grown up in the city, had never known another place, and had little desire to.  But Hidashi was a cop, and he knew his beloved city had an underbelly. 

Immigrants came from all over seeking a safer, cleaner, more comfortable life in Staonia, and many of them found it.  Some of them didn’t. 

Hidashi navigated his old car south, past Freedom Park, past the old bureaucratic buildings, and watched the architecture deteriorate.

“You alright?” Tan asked, as Hidashi rubbed at his eyes for the third time that drive.

“Yeah, just a little eye sore,” Hidashi replied.  “Spent some time reading over case files last night.”

“Files of cases that aren’t ours again?” Tan asked, looking out the window and trying to pass off his prying as flippancy. 

“Detective Holden asked me to take a look at a home invasion, see if I could offer him any insights,” Hidashi said.  “I wasn’t going to say no.”

Tan hummed, and didn’t say anymore.  Hidashi had perhaps invested more time into the files than could have been expected of him, but he couldn’t leave them with no more than when he’d started.  In the end, he’d managed to glean the fact that the family had a dog, and that this dog was curiously absent from the crime scene photos.  He hoped Detective Holden could make something out of that.   

“I’ve never really been to this side,” Tan broke the silence as they pulled up to the crumbling wrought iron gate that marked off the old ghetto quarter.  Hidashi parked the car beside it, and got out, opening the door for Akia.

“Weren’t you a beat cop before you were a detective,” he asked. 

“Yeah, but I got assigned to east side,” Tan said. 

“And you never even had to do any ride-alongs down here?”  Hidashi frowned and he led the way through the gate.  He’d cleaned and loaded his gun this morning, and he patted his flank to be sure it still sat snugly in his shoulder holster, but he had no intention of using it today.  Akia usually functioned to deter trouble makers; no one wanted to get bit by dog, but no one wanted to hurt one either.

“I…er no,” Tan replied, scratching the back of his head. 

Hidashi stopped.

“You had someone keeping you out of the south side, didn’t you?” he accused.  Tan’s guilty face answered his question.  “Some friend or family in a position of just enough power?”

“My aunt,” Tan admitted.  “She’s a senator.  Made sure I wasn’t assigned to any real dangerous beats.”

Hidashi snorted.

“She didn’t do you any favors,” he muttered.  “You’ll just have to learn now.”

“I know,” Tan said.  He looked suitably sheepish, and eager to follow so Hidashi let it go and lead the way into the district.

The Ghetto dominated the south side, historically the home of magic users, evidenced by its disrepair and neglect.  Tightly packed, rundown buildings cramped the streets so that they were narrow, barely large enough for a small car to squeeze through, and as a result most didn’t.  The majority of the residents didn’t even own a car, and any of the rare visitors left theirs outside the gate, like Hidashi.  Some alleys were narrow enough for neighbors to shake hands across them without ever leaving their homes. 

Tan and Hidashi didn’t run into many people; most stayed off the streets, and those few outdoors cleared out when cops arrived.  Even though Tan and Hidashi wore their street clothes as detectives, Hidashi knew they stood out as well as if they had worn their sirens.

The few people they did see, either turned immediately away and slipped down a new alley in the maze, or peered out at them from behind cracked or dirty windows set into the buildings’ peeling paint.

“How are we going to talk to anyone?” Tan whispered, coming abreast of Hidashi on the opposite side of Akia. 

“With some difficulty,” Hidashi replied dryly. 

“But where do we even go?”

“The square.  In the middle of the Ghetto is the square.  It’s where most people will be.”

“Do you think they’ll be friendly there?” Tan asked, looking around with his discomfort clear to all. 

Hidashi let out a bark of a laugh.

“Friendly?” he repeated.  “Of course not; they have no reason to be.  But we can try anyway.”

After a few more minutes of walking, the street suddenly widened out and they exited the shadows into weak sunlight.  Before them stretched a meager square.  Shanties and stalls lined the sides, and a few more tents stood on the small mound in the middle, kept up by the old stocks and whipping post that had never been removed. 

“It’s like we stepped back in time,” Tan muttered. 

Hidashi grimaced. 

“If only that were true.”

In the square people warmed themselves or cooked food over small fires in old burning oil drums, haggled over goods, and even some children chased each other around in the dirt.

Hidashi approached a woman who sat sitting on a bench holding a baby and watching some of the running children with a sharp eye.

“Good day, ma’am,” Hidashi greeted her.  “I’m Detective Sato, and this is my partner, Detective Tan.  May we sit with you?”

The woman eyed him, Tan, and then Akia at his side whose ears pricked towards the bundle in her arms.

“Not with that thing you can’t,” she said.  Hidashi nodded, and motioned for Akia to lie down in place, a suitable distance from the mother.

“Of course,” he replied, and then sat beside her as though she had offered, and let Tan hover awkwardly beside him. 

“May I ask you a few questions?”

“I haven’t done anything.  I don’t have anything to say,” she said gruffly, shifting a little farther away.  Part of Hidashi felt guilty for intruding on her, but a larger part of him knew he had to do his job.

“I don’t think that you have,” he replied with a smile.  “We’re just trying to get a sense of what’s going on here.  Any changes in the community, new people around, or people acting strangely?”

“Ha, new people around or people acting strangely?” she scoffed.  “There’s always new people around.  New people coming to the Ghetto from Iban every week and acting strangely when they find they can’t get out.”

“Why can’t they get out?” Tan spoke up suddenly.  Hidashi hid his wince and the woman looked up at the young detective incredulously.

“Where they gonna go?” she asked sharply. 

“I—I don’t know,” Tan stuttered, knocked on his heels by her vitriol.  “Somewhere else?  There’re cheap apartments in the center of the city, and some jobs…”

“And who’s gonna hire them,” she continued.  “Half of them are magic users.  And the other half are always accused of it.”

“I--,” Tan looked like he had more to say, but seemed to realize just how far he’d stuck his foot in his mouth and deflated instead.  “I’m sorry.”

“I apologize, he’s still learning,” Hidashi said, trying to get the woman to turn her glare from Tan and back to him.  “But is there anything else— “

“I’ve got nothing more to say to you,” she snapped, and as though on cue the babe in her arms started squalling and the woman’s beleaguered face grew that much heavier.  “Nothing’s going on, please leave.”

“Of course,” Hidashi stood and nodded politely.  “We’re sorry to have bothered you.”  He took Tan’s elbow and lead him firmly away, leaning in close to growl, “Keep the stupid questions to yourself.  We can continue your political and historical education elsewhere.”

“Sorry,” Tan mumbled, dark eyes dropping to the ground.

They continued their canvassing with five more people: a middle aged man selling misshapen potatoes, a cluster of young men around a burning steel drum, and an older woman wrapped in a shawl on the corner who had appeared to be selling vials of something that she hid quickly upon their approach.  They encountered a stone wall at each turn, but although Hidashi did not find that in itself strange, the sharpness with which the residents dismissed them he did. 

“Well this has been effective,” Tan grumbled, after the drug dealing old woman turned them away.  “Do we give up?”

“No,” Hidashi sighed.  “We never give up, but we will probably change tactics soon.  Let’s just try our luck somewhere else before we leave.”

“What about Eisenmann?”

“What about him?” Hidashi asked sharply.

Tan shrugged.

“I don’t know, he probably has more connections down here and he seemed willing to help…”

“Oh I’m sure he is,” Hidashi muttered.  They left the square and ventured down another street across from the one they had entered from.  If it seemed darker and even less populated though, Hidashi didn’t notice with the tangle of feelings in his gut the name Eisenmann brought up.  “Let’s try to avoid working with crime bosses wherever possible though, hm?”

“You’re right,” Tan said.  “He just seemed surprisingly normal— “

“He’s not,” Hidashi cut him off.  He opened his mouth again to end the conversation, froze at the sound of a familiar, low growl.  He placed a hand on Tan’s arm.

Beside him, Akia’s chest rumbled and she slowly stalked out in front of her master, ears flat against the back of her head.  Her upper lip lifted to reveal an impressive array of fangs. 

“That’s quite the beast you got there, _detective_.”  A tall slim figure stepped out from behind a corner, and approached them.  Two more followed the first, and then three from the alley across from them.  Before the detectives could retreat two steps, six figures crowded up in the street in front of them.  A quick glance behind told Hidashi that at least they hadn’t arrived behind them yet. 

“Good day, boys,” Hidashi said, raising his hands.  He glanced from figure to figure and saw that they all ranged in age from should-be-in-high-school to should-be-in-college.  He didn’t see any weapons, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have any.  “Do we know each other?”

“Never been arrested if that’s what you’re asking!” a boy behind the leader yelled back.  Hidashi blinked at him passively.

“It wasn’t.”

“Saw you harassing people in the square,” the leader said, a young man in the middle of the age range with freckles, and matted red hair. 

“Asking questions, not harassing,” Hidashi clarified. 

“And why ask questions?” the boy asked.  He raised his right hand, and with a snap of his fingers a blaze of fire ignited in his palm.  Tan gasped sharply, and even Hidashi’s eyes widened as he took a step back.  “Looking for weaknesses?  Looking for someone you can snatch in the night?” 

“What?  No,” Tan cried out as though he had already been burned.

“What are you talking about?” Hidashi demanded.

“You should have never come here!” The boy drew his arm back, and Hidashi had just enough time to push Tan and grab Akia’s collar to haul her out of the way.  The fireball landed on the concrete before them with a small explosion.  In a flash Hidashi whipped his gun out and clicked the safety off, but before he could fire off a warning shot, a sharp nailed hand dug into his arm and pulled him back.

“What do you think you’re doing, Kevin?”  A petite woman with smooth raven hair and a heavy satchel over her shoulder planted herself firmly in front of Hidashi.  “Do you know your little sister cried for you today when I stitched up her arm?

The young man grit his teeth, and the flame in his hand soared higher.

“This doesn’t concern you, doctor.”

“How do you think she’d like it if she found out you were here throwing fire balls at strangers instead of holding her hand?”  Before the red head could reply the woman gestured at a boy behind him.  “And you, you know how your mother worries.”

“Doctor— “

“Get out of here the lot of you,” she snapped.  “Or the next time you start noticing little red bumps on your junk don’t come crying to me.”

The ready fire ball guttered and extinguished itself in the palm of a sheepish boy’s hand. 

“Alright, alright, doctor,” he said.  He raised his hands in the same position Hidashi had raised his, and the boys slunk off the way they’d come.  When the last of them disappeared around the corner, the woman finally turned to face them.

“Sorry about the welcoming committee,” she said with an easy smile.  “They’re good boys but a bit misguided.”  She held out her hand.  “I’m Helen Song.”

Hidashi’s jaw fell and it took him a moment before he regained himself enough to return the hand shake.

“The Helen Song?” Tan asked from behind him, his voice echoing the surprise Hidashi felt.  The woman smiled sheepishly.

“Yes, that’s right,” she said.

“Don’t you have some fancy lab or something to work in?” Tan asked in his usual tactless fashion. 

“I do, in fact,” she replied.  “But not everyone can afford to be treated in a fancy lab, or anywhere really, but that doesn’t mean they don’t need it.  It usually means they need it quite a lot more actually.”

“I’m Detective Sato,” Hidashi introduced himself.  “And this is my partner Detective Tan.  You spend a lot of time here, helping the people that live here?”

“Yes, that’s right.  I’ve gotten to know some of them quite well.”

“We’re investigating a murder we think might be connected to a recent Ibanese immigrant,” Hidashi told her.  “But none of the locals have been forthcoming.”

Song raised an eyebrow.

“Well I hope you haven’t been broaching the subject like that.”

“No, ma’am, we haven’t,” Tan said with a deep chuckle.  “But they don’t seem to want to talk to us about anything.”

“Yes, that’s not surprising.”  Song frowned.  “Something’s been going on, but they haven’t been talking about it, not even to me yet.”

“Related at all to that young man accusing me of looking for someone I could snatch in the night?” Hidashi asked.

“Probably,” she admitted. 

“You might be the closest thing to a resident that’s willing to speak to us, do you mind if we ask you a couple of questions?”

“That’s fine,” Song said.  “I’m happy to help where I can, but you really should leave soon.”

“Yeah, I think we got that,” Tan said.

“Just one question then,” Hidashi amended.  “Have there been any recent newcomers?  Particularly skilled magic users?”

“Well, there are new people coming through all the time.”  Song crossed her arms and tilted her head as she thought.  “But most magic users are quiet about it, at least until they get a bit more established.  In any case though, recently I can only think of two groups.  A mother and daughter and a small family of three, a mother, her brother-in-law, and small babe.  None of them looked particularly formidable though.”

“Thank you,” Hidashi said.  He pulled out a card from his coat pocket.  “Will you give us a call if you find out anything else about them, or find out about anyone else?”

“And also if you find out anything about why everyone is so on edge,” Tan added, genuine concern in his voice.

“Absolutely, detectives,” Song replied, taking the card and tucking it into an outside pocket of her bag.  “Now, do you mind if I accompany you back to the entrance?  Kevin and his merry band can be quite persistent.”

“It would be an honor, Dr. Song,” Hidashi said, with a polite nod of his head and a smile.  “I’ve always been an admirer.”

“Have you?” Song laughed as they started back the way they’d come, Akia sniffing at the doctor’s heels in interest.

“Yes, it’s refreshing to see genius used to truly help people, rather than for its own gains.”

“Well, aren’t you the flatterer!”

“He’s really not though,” Tan said.  “Doesn’t usually waste time with such pleasantries.”

Hidashi sent him a mock scowl before returning his attention to the prestigious doctor.

“My grandmother died of dijkstras when I was in college,” Hidashi elaborated.  “With your research, many more won’t have to.”

“I hope that’s true,” Song replied.  They walked in companionable silence until they reached the gate.  Song sighed.  “So I have a feeling you’re going to be back tomorrow aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hidashi said with an apologetic half smile.

“And it probably won’t help if I remind you that it’s dangerous?” Song cocked her head and put her hands on her hips in a way that reminded Hidashi distinctly of a mother. 

“No,” Hidashi replied.  “We have a murder solve.”

“Well, alright then,” she relented.  “It was a pleasure meeting you both.  I’ll give you a call if I find out anything that might interest you.”

With that, the petite genius of a woman disappeared back into the Ghetto.    

 

* * *

 

Ian swirled the Cabello in his tumbler as he contemplated how to act on the information the lieutenant standing before his desk had just relayed to him.  Bringing the amber liquid to his lips again, he caught a whiff of its poignant smell and had to put it back down.  The vintage seemed less enjoyable while still tainted with the frustration of Detective Sato.  He set it on the corner of his desk with a sigh.

“You’re sure it was him you saw?” Ian asked, rubbing his temples.

“Positive, sir,” the lieutenant replied.  “He’s, uh, kind of hard to miss.”

Ian looked up sharply.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The young man’s eyes widened almost comically at his glare and stuttered out an answer.

“Just that, you know, he’s got that the big dog…"

“Ah, right,” Ian nodded and sat back, the surprising stab of possessiveness draining quickly away.  “And what was he doing?”

“Just walking around with the other detective and asking questions.  Mutton and his boys gave him a hard time, but Doc Song stepped in before anything got out of hand.”

“Got out of hand how?” Ian asked.

“Threatened him with a couple fireballs, the usual.”  The lieutenant went to shrug, but then caught sight of Ian’s furious expression and slowly lowered his shoulder back into place.

“Well you let Kevin Mutton know, that if he so much as lights a match in Detective Sato’s direction again, he won’t have any hands to make fireballs with.”

“I—I’ll let him know.”

“Threatening cops is bad for business,” Ian explained, leaning back again with a smile.

“Right.”

“Thank you, that’ll be all.”  Ian dismissed the man with a wave of his hand.  When he closed the door behind him, Ian dragged that hand over his face.

It wasn’t surprising to him that the detective had defied him to go to the Ghetto.  Sato had made his intentions very clear when they’d parted, but Ian still hadn’t figured out how to handle the transgression.  He could admit that his demand of Sato to not go to the Ghetto alone had been a bit unreasonable, but it had already been made and he couldn’t show weakness by allowing the detective to ignore him and get away with it.

He pulled out his phone and dialed in a number he had found himself dialing a lot lately.  It picked up on three rings.

“Ian?”

“Ajit, I need you.”

“Ian, I’m in training.”

“When do you get out?”

“….in an hour.”

“I’ll have a car pick you up.”

“What?  Ian, no.”  In a hushed voice, “You are not sending a mob car to come and pick me up outside where I’m training to be a detective.  I’ll meet you five blocks east, at that old burger joint your nanny used to take us to.”

“That will work.  Thank you, Ajit.”

“Goodbye, Ian.”

 

* * *

 

Ian and Ajit stood leaning against the side of a black SUV Ian’s driver had parked to block the entrance way when Detective Sato’s beat up squad car pulled up.  Ian made a point to stand tall, but Ajit merely looked like he wanted to be elsewhere, which he did. 

Seconds after parking, Detective Sato exited the car and slammed the door behind him.  He didn’t even bother to let out his dog as he strode towards Ian, leaving his younger partner to open the back door for the four legged beast. 

“Can I help you, Eisenmann?” Sato all but snarled.  Ian forced himself to smile coolly back, aware of the thin ice he tread on, but also pleased to have the detective’s full attention.

“Why, yes,” he replied.  “You can allow me to accompany you today into the Ghetto, since you denied me the privilege yesterday.”

“Are you having me followed, Eisenmann?”

“No, detective,” Ian chuckled.  “Merely keeping my many eyes on you, though the idea is tempting.”

“Detective Sato,” Ajit cut in, stepping forward.  “I apologize for Ian’s behavior, but we really can be of assistance.”

Sato’s sharp eyes cut to the dark skinned younger man, but they warmed when they rested on him from the splinters of ice he graced Ian with.  The other detective and the dog approached them, but they stayed behind Sato, waiting to follow his lead.

“How so?” Sato asked Ajit, not unreasonably.

“It’s true that the Ghetto is dangerous, but not when Ian is accompanying you,” Ajit said.  Sato’s eyes flicked back to him, but didn’t linger long enough for Ian to read them.  “And I’ve spent some time here.  Used to live here.  The people won’t want to open up to cops, but they might be more comfortable opening up to me, and even Ian.”

“You used to live in the Ghetto?” the young detective, Tan, asked, looking at Ajit with an almost new light.  Ajit nodded curtly.

Sato hesitated, taking a deep breath, and letting it out in a long, calming stream. 

“I don’t trust you, Eisenmann,” he said finally.

“I don’t expect you too.”

“And I haven’t made up my mind about you,” he said to Ajit.

“Understandable,” Ajit replied.

“But I get the feeling any choice here is an illusion,” he finished.

“Clever man,” Ian smiled at him, and Sato shifted uncomfortably under his gaze and averted his eyes back to Ajit. 

“Let’s go then.”

The unlikely group of five entered the Ghetto without another word.  The tense silence grew tenser as they walked, Sato leading with stiff shoulders, Detective Tan and the dog slightly behind and to the right, Ajit and Ian opposite them.  Ian was content though to let the tenseness drag on and watch the slim detective’s posture grow tighter and tighter.  Finally, Ajit came abreast of Sato.

“I thought we might try the Under Ghetto first,” he suggested.

Sato frowned.

“The what?”

“The Under Ghetto,” Ajit repeated.  “Have you never heard of it?”

“No.”

“It’s not the most well-known place in the city,” Ajit admitted with a sigh.  “Though I’d thought maybe the cops with more experience might have known about it.  You two are in for a treat.”

They made their way back to the square, to a broken down store front that used to be “Dan’s Corner Pharmacy” according to the peeling sign above it.  They pulled open the crumbling wood door on its squeaky hinges and followed a path cleared through the debris to the back.  A gaping black hole waited for them, with a ladder descending into its depths. 

Detective Sato froze.

“Where does that go?” he demanded, voice tight.

“To the Under Ghetto,” Ajit replied.  He ignited a small flame for light in his left palm and eased himself over the edge to start the climb.  Ian watched Sato, and the beads of sweat that appeared under his collar. 

“What about Akia?” Sato asked. 

“The dog?” Ajit clarified, his head still visible.  “There’s an old coffin down here attached to a pulley that people use to transport things.  I’ll pull it up when I get to the bottom.”

With that, he disappeared down the ladder.  Oblivious to Sato’s immobility, Tan pulled a pocket flashlight from his coat and approached the inky blackness.  He clicked it on and took a deep breath.

“Well, doesn’t this look fun,” he muttered, and followed Ajit down.  Ian and Sato stood alone with Akia between them, Ian staring at Sato, Sato staring at the hole in the ground.

“Do you need a flash light?” Ian asked softly. 

Sato twitched.

“No, of course not,” he snapped back, and pulled out a pocket one identical to Tan’s. 

A creaking started up from the hole and then got louder, and Ian glanced over the edge to see the large, boat shaped and sturdy wood contraption rising up to them.

“Put the dog in this if she’ll go, and I can lower her down,” Ajit’s voice called up.  Sato stiffened up even tighter, and he shuffled slowly to the edge.  The pulley attached to the bottom of the floor they stood on, and so the empty coffin hung a couple feet below the lip of the hole.  Sato looked at it and licked his lips.  He made to move closer to pull it up, but Ian stepped smoothly in front of him. 

He knelt, leaned out over nothingness, and grasped the rope that held the container.

“We’re pulling it up now,” he called, signaling Ajit to give them more slack, and heaved it up onto the ground they stood on.  He dragged it away from the edge, and motioned to the detective and the dog.  “Can you get her to lie down in here?”

“Akia, in,” Sato ordered.  The dog flattened her ears down uncertainly but leapt lightly into the coffin.  “Down.”

“Alright, here she comes, Ajit, you ready?” Ian called.

“Ready!”

Ian slid the dog closer to the edge, braced one hand on the ladder to hold himself steady and gripped the rope that held the container tight.  He eased it out over the open space, arm straining with the weight, but not wanting to rock the contraption too badly and risk knocking out the dog.  When he finally lowered her and let go the coffin swung slightly, and the dog whined, but she stayed obediently down.  Ian heard a sharp intake of breath behind him.

With a little more whining, and the creak of the pulley, the dog slowly started her descent and Ian stood and brushed himself off.  He turned back to face Sato.

“Thank you,” the other man muttered, not meeting his eyes.

“Don’t mention it, detective,” Ian replied.  “Would you like to go down first.”

“No,” the man responded, almost too quickly.

“Then I will.”  Ian paused a moment and waited until he had caught the slim detective’s eye before continuing, “I will be right below you.”

“Well, won’t you enjoy that,” Sato replied with a raised eyebrow. 

Ian chuckled, and without the aid of a flashlight, lowered himself gingerly down onto the rungs of the sturdy wood ladder.  Once he had gotten a body’s length of the way down, he paused to wait for detective Sato.  He didn’t have to wait long, and soon he caught sight of the detective’s lean body lowering itself after him, the small flashlight wedged securely between his teeth.

Ian chose not to mention the man’s obvious nerves, and descended slowly, never climbing too quickly or too far away.

About half way down, Sato’s form stiffened above him, and he stopped climbing.  Ian could hear his ragged breathing.  He reached up and laid a hand firmly on the man’s calf.

“You’re fine,” he said.  “We’re almost there.  The rungs are strong, and even.  One foot in front of the other.”

Sato growled back, but didn’t shake his hand off, and the metal in his mouth obstructed any words he might have wanted to say.  But his breathing evened out, and they continued their climb.

After what seemed like an eternity, and what probably seemed like even longer to the detective, Ian felt the soles of his expensive shoes make contact with concrete.

“We’re there,” he said.  A cold nose brushed against his hand and Ian looked down to see the dog, Akia, sniffing around him and looking up at her master, pacing back and forth.  Ajit and Tan stood in an archway off to the side.  The dog whined, and Sato let out a deep sigh as his feet touched the ground.  He dropped the flashlight from his mouth.

“Akia,” he breathed.  He dropped to a knee and buried his hands in the long fur around her neck.  The dog gave him a quick lick over the cheek.  “Good girl.”

“Detective Sato, you have to see this.” Tan called over his shoulder.  He stood facing out into the corridor beyond the archway.  Neither he nor Ajit seemed to notice the older detective’s disproportional relief, and when Ian turned back to face him, he was already standing tall and steady.  Sato strode confidently to Tan’s side.

“What the hell…?”

Ian joined them in time to see Sato’s eyes widen. 

“Welcome to the Under Ghetto,” Ajit muttered.

Before them stretched a long, roughhewn corridor with more archways branching off into new corridors on either side.  Makeshift lanterns, some clearly magical in origin and some guttering with black smoke from some foul fuel, hung in uneven intervals along it, lighting it just enough for the eyes to adjust. 

People lined the walls: sitting, sleeping, standing, eating, hawking wares, hawking themselves, shuffling through.

“What is this place?” Sato asked.

“It’s where the other half lives and does business,” Ajit said with a shrug.  “The people with nowhere to go.  If anything untoward is going on, these people will know about it.”

Ajit lead the way into the crowded underground street, Detective Tan right behind him, and Sato trailing a bit behind, staring at everything around him.  He had quickly disguised the awe and horror that had briefly overtaken his expression, but he drank everything in with sharp eyes.

“You knew about this place?” he asked suddenly.  Ian glanced over, surprised to find himself addressed.

“Yes, of course.”

“Is this where you do business?”

Ian frowned. 

“Some of it.  Not most.”

They let Ajit take over most of the questioning.  Many found Ian in his well-tailored suit utterly intimidating, they felt similarly about the dark eyed detective with the big dog, and Tan was simply too naïve.  But the young detective did stay close to Ajit as he spoke to people, and occasionally even offered comforting encouragement and reassurances. 

They worked their way slowly into the bowels of the city, no one willing to talk to Ajit about anything of importance.  On his next step, Ian felt his foot sink into something decidedly unpleasant, and a stink even greater than the one that simply hung in the air rose up to his nostrils.  He lifted his foot and inspected it with a grimace.

“What’s the point of all your power?” Sato suddenly snapped.

Ian slowly lowered his foot, and raised his eyes to meet the detective’s.

“Excuse me?” he asked lightly.

“You made it very clear to me in your car that you’re powerful now, so what’s the point of it?”

“To be sure no one can exert their own power over me,” Ian replied slowly, sure that he had said as much last time they’d had this conversation but feeling as though he were being lead into a trap. 

“And to exert your own over others,” Sato supplied.

Ian narrowed his eyes.

“That is a nice perk…”

“So is that what all this is?” Sato asked, sweeping his arm out to encompass the sordidness that surrounded them.  “You exerting your power over others?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Ian asked, taken aback.

“You do business here, don’t you?” Sato demanded.  “Drugs, prostitution, extortion, the usual?”

“What are you trying to imply, detective?” Ian growled, side stepping the question.

“That these people live in squalor and you profit off of it,” Sato growled back, taking a step closer.  Ian bit off a sharp retort, and took a steadying breath.

“Anything else?”

“That you have the power to help instead and you don’t,” Sato hissed.

“And neither do you.”

Sato blinked and pulled back.

“You didn’t even know these people were here.  Don’t shove your guilt onto me,” Ian said, pushing into his space.  Sato balled his fists and stood his ground.

“Don’t try to analyze me, Eisenmann— “

“Ahem.”

Both men turned at the sound of Ajit’s mock polite cough, to see him and Tan flanking a nervous old woman.  She stared at the two of them with wide eyes, and Sato and Ian slowly eased away from each other and relaxed their postures.

“Go ahead,” Tan prompted softly.  “Just tell Detective Sato what you told me.”

The woman shot him a thin lipped smile, seemingly relaxed by the big man’s soft voice, and then turned to address Sato.  She shuffled closer. 

“People have been disappearing,” she said, so quietly Sato leaned in closer. 

“Is that strange?” he asked.

“No, not really,” she replied.  “But then…. then they’re being found.”  She wrung her hands, and glanced around them.  “Go down to the exit by the docks and you’ll find one.  Just found her yesterday, they did.  No one wants to go near her.”

“Is she alright?” Sato asked, the woman shot him an incredulous look and shook her head slowly.  Before they could question her more, she brushed past them and disappeared down an alley way.

Sato straightened and stared after her with a frown.  He turned to Ajit.

“You know anything about this ‘exit by the docks’?” he asked. 

Ajit nodded. 

“Yeah.  One of the ways out of here is a tunnel that dumps out into the river just outside the piers,” he replied.  “It’s a bit of a hike from here but I can get us there.”

“Lead the way then,” Sato said with a nod. 

They began the long walk, Sato and Ajit in front, and Ian behind them, with Tan trying not to get too close to either Akia or Ian, as though he couldn’t decide if he was more unnerved by the dog or the mob boss.  Unfortunately for him, Ian thought with a small chuckle, they were both going to be permanent fixtures of Detective Sato for some time.

The crowd in the hallways thinned out as they ventured farther from the Ghetto entrance, and soon the lanterns disappeared, forcing Ajit to light a fire and Sato to pull out his flashlight again.  No one spoke.

After almost an hour, the faintest of daylight trickled out before them.

“We’re almost there,” Ajit said.  “There’s supposed to be a grate, but the Under Ghetto residents always break it down sooner or later.  Unless the city’s come by to replace it recently, we should be able to get through.”

As luck would have it the city had not come by recently, and the group had to shield their eye from the impossibly bright sun that shone down on them and glinted off the dirty river as they exited the tunnel.  Even stinking of fish and garbage the fresh air was a relief. 

“Fuck…”

Ian frowned in confusion at hearing the filthy word dropped so quietly from the detective’s lips, and blinking away the pain in his eyes, turned to follow the man’s dark gaze.

The smell hit him almost before the sight: the pungent stink of decay and infection, rising from a lump laying atop the rocks white with bird droppings.  Boils, some raised and an angry red, and others burst and oozing white sludge, covered the thing. 

Ian would have thought it the horrible decayed corpse of some porpoise that had wandered too far in from the sea, if it weren’t for the blond hair falling from one side of it, and the barely visible remnants of chipped red nail polish embedded in a swollen hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading you wonderful person! I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Also if anyone caught the reference to my real life work in here I would love to be called out on it lol 
> 
> Good luck in your weeks everyone!
> 
> ~Eryn Ivers


	5. Friends with Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So I’m late and I’m ashamed. I started off with legitimate feeling excuses of recently signing the lease to a new apartment and trying to furnish it (never realized how little furniture I had until I suddenly needs to furnish an empty apartment (still very exciting though!)) and then eventually let my own procrastination dissolve into finally modding my skyrim game (I want it to have prettier men teehee).
> 
> Also, flattered some of y’all think I could be a medical professional (that would have involved way too much schooling and chemistry for me.) I’m actually a software engineer and I threw in a reference to a famous algorithm I was currently studying. Not important lol 
> 
> In any case, it’s finally out, yay!
> 
> Thanks for your patience everyone, and please enjoy!
> 
> Chapter Warning: some gore, mild dub-con (in that the level of intimacy of the acts to which there is dubious consent is mild)

Chapter 5

Friends with Questions

 

Within hours the empty canal bank bustled with activity: investigators snapped photographs and swabbed samples, officers canvased the area for witnesses to interrogate, and bright yellow crime scene tape cordoned off an area of at least twenty paces in diameter.  Hidashi stood over the grotesque body beside Dr. Matsumoto; Akia opting to stand beside Tan and Ajit some ways away from the foul smell.

   “You seem to be getting all the bad ones lately, Sato,” Matsumoto said as she gathered up her equipment.  She waved over some investigators to oversee the transfer of the body to her lab in the basement of the precinct office.  “Though I heard you called this one in.”

“Yes, I did,” Hidashi replied.  “Tan and I were following a lead on the Metzger case.”  He left unexplained the presence of Ajit, and left out entirely the former presence of Ian Eisenmann, who had decided to leave as soon as Hidashi made the call rather than allow himself to be questioned by police.

“Interesting.  Well, I should have a preliminary exam done by tomorrow,” she said, pulling her bag over her shoulder.  “Come by then and hopefully I’ll have something for you.”

“Thank you, doctor.”  Sato nodded politely, and backed away from the body to rejoin Tan and Ajit.

“Should I leave?” Ajit asked.  “I feel like I’m getting in the way.”

“No,” Hidashi shook his head.  “You were integral to us finding this body.”  Ajit’s face lit up and Hidashi turned to Tan.  “You as well.  You put that woman at ease enough for her to tell you something she didn’t want to.  Well done.”

He was rewarded with another brightening face, and Hidashi had to turn away to hide his smile from them.  In doing so he caught sight of a tall woman striding towards the crime scene and ducking under the tape.

“Captain,” he called, coming to meet her.  “You don’t usually show up on site.”

“No, but I wanted to see this one,” Captain Johnson replied. 

Hidashi grimaced. 

“Pictures would have probably been more pleasant,” he said. 

“Yes, that’s why I came,” she said.  She crossed her arms and looked down at the body with a frown.  “We don’t think this is the only one?”

“Well we don’t know anything for sure,” Hidashi said.  “But I don’t think the people of the Ghetto get spooked by just one more gruesome than normal murder.”

“We know for sure this is a murder?”

“No,” Hidashi admitted.

“But your gut says there was foul play,” she finished for him. 

“Yes.”

“Good, follow that gut,” she said.  “I’m assigning you more men for the Metzger investigation.  Use them how you see fit.”

“Why, ma’am?” Hidashi asked.  “There’s not much to indicate they’re connected.”

“Because _my_ gut says they are,” she replied, turning away from the body being carefully wrapped in a tarp.  She glanced down at Hidashi with a half-smile and a raised eye brow.  “And my gut is the captain.”

Hidashi chuckled, and nodded. 

“While we’re on the subject of getting me more men, I have a request,” he said before she left.

“And what’s that?”

“There’s a young man in training to be a detective, Ajit Bhakta,” he explained.  “He should be done soon, and if he passes I’d like him to be transferred to our precinct.”

“You already have a young partner,” Johnson said.  “You want to replace Brian Tan already?  I thought he showed promise.”

“No, nothing like that,” Hidashi amended quickly.  “He does show promise; he’s a quick and exuberant learner.  But I think Ajit could be an asset when dealing with Ibanese crime, and magic users.”

“I’ll take your advice into consideration,” she said, tilting her head and observing him, and Ajit and Tan closely.  “Perhaps the two young detectives would be better partners anyway.  Free you up to work as you like, too.”

Hidashi thought of the way the two young man men gnawed at each other’s throats, and couldn’t help but smirk. 

“I think that could be good for them,” he agreed. 

“And convenient for you in no small way,” she scoffed.  “Well, I said I’ll think on it.  We’ll see what happens.”

Hidashi returned to Tan and Ajit.  Akia trotted to his side now that the noxious fumes of the corpse had faded away. 

“What now?” Tan asked. 

“Now we wait for Dr. Matsumoto’s exam, the crime scene reports, and in the meantime we dig into Metzger’s life,” Hidashi replied.  He turned to Ajit.  “You too, if you have the time.”

“Of course,” Ajit nodded eagerly. 

“What are we looking for?” Tan asked after sending a somewhat distasteful look Ajit’s way.  Hidashi resisted the urge to smile at the childish jealousy. 

“Anything that can explain why his liver might be particularly valuable, or how the murderer could have gotten to him,” Hidashi explained.  “He’s a rich and powerful man, it’s hard for him to just disappear.  Might have even had security.”

Tan rolled and cracked his neck.

“Well, this’ll be fun,” he said.

“Let’s go back to precinct,” Hidashi said with a smile.  “We’ll get Ibanese take out on the way.”

 

* * *

 

Ian told the driver to park at the corner, one of his body guards to wait outside the apartment building, and allowed the other to accompany him to the sixth floor, but told him to stay out of sight.  He fingered the neck of the bottle he held almost nervously, before he caught himself and immediately ceased the senseless action.

He stood before a plain door, well maintained of course, but exceedingly plain. 

He knocked.

Swift tapping of claws on hard wood met his quick rap, followed by a sharp bark.  Then some fumbling, and grumbling, “What?  Someone you know?  Get out of the way, let me open the door.”

The door swung open to reveal a somewhat disheveled Detective Sato: the first two buttons of his shirt hung undone, he wore no belt, and had on grey socks.  His mouth fell open slightly at the sight of Ian, dressed in one of his suits, standing on his door step.  Ian smiled, feeling privileged to glimpse the detective in what must have been a rare moment of almost relaxation. 

“Eisenmann?  What are you doing here?” The detective frowned, and his hand tightened on the handle of the door.

“Ajit got an email today saying that when he completed his training, he would be assigned to your precinct,” Ian said.  “It’s something he’s wanted and worked hard for, and I understand you are probably partially responsible for the opportunity.”

The faintest of blushes touched along the pulse points of Sato’s neck.

“I merely put in a good word, and said I thought he’d be useful,” the detective replied.  “I’m glad to hear it appears to be working out.”

“Ajit means a great deal to me,” Ian said.  “And it also means a great deal that you would help him, despite your reservations about me.”  He held out the bottle in his hand.  “For you.  I thought you might appreciate some fine Staonian wine over Ibanese whiskey.”

Detective Sato reached out almost tentatively to take the deep green bottle, and held it up to the light to look at the burgundy within.  He smiled slightly.

“I doubt I want to know how much it’s worth?” he raised an eyebrow at Ian.

“You know I’d only ever offer you the best, detective,” Ian replied.  He chanced a smile at Akia, hovering behind Sato’s knees and watching him with pricked ears, then turned his eyes back to the man standing in the doorway, his hand still tight on the handle.  He backed away, and raised his hands good-naturedly.  “Anyway, I won’t harass you.  I merely wanted to say thank you.  I’ll see you around, detective.”

He turned, and made his way down the hall, pleased at least with the pleasant exchange.

“Wait.”

Ian’s heart clenched, and he grimaced at the unnecessary amount of emotion the single syllable evoked.  He turned and saw Sato still standing in the doorway, jaw tight and gaze not quite on Ian.

“I never thanked you for helping to get Akia down that ladder,” he said.  With what appeared to be a great deal of willpower, he stepped backwards, and opened the door wider.  He held up the bottle.  “Would you like to come in for a glass of this.” 

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” Ian said with a soft smile.  “But you’ve already offered so I’m taking you up on it.”

He returned to Sato’s door, and brushed past the man and into his apartment before he could rescind his invitation.  He saw the detective grimace out of the corner of his eye. 

“Your home is cozier than I would have expected,” Ian noted, looking around at the living room: a rug, sofa with disordered throw pillows and an armchair, coffee table with a water glass sitting on a coaster, a plush dog bed just beside the couch, and a desk with what appeared to be boxes of case files against a wall. 

“You mean smaller than you’re used to?” Sato grumbled, leading the way to the tidy kitchen. 

“No.  Cozy,” Ian corrected.  “I’d expected you to lead a sparser existence.  This is rather nice.” 

“I’m glad you think so, I guess,” Sato said slowly.  He opened a cabinet and pulled out two wine glasses, then began rooting around in a drawer full of kitchen knickknacks. 

“And as to your assumption of what I’m used to,” Ian continued, leaning against the counter and indulging in a view of the other man.  “I’m sure you can imagine I wasn’t always the leader of the Family.”

“No,” Hidashi agreed, emerging victorious from the drawer with a bottle opener in hand and piercing the cork with the screw.  “But I did some research, and before you were the boss you were his only son.  You grew up in that life.”

“So I did,” Ian nodded.  “My parents lead the family when I was young.  Then they were killed; as happens to crime bosses.  And Ajit and I were sent to the much less illustrious branch of the Family in Iban.”

Hidashi frowned, and paused in his effort with the wine bottle.

“You and Ajit?” he repeated. 

Ian nodded.

“His father was consigliere to mine,” Ian explained.  “His parents were included in the hit on my parents.  My uncle needed to take out the whole top tier of leadership to accomplish his coup.”  He reached out and took the bottle and corkscrew from Sato’s still hands, and began prying out the cork himself.  “Upon their deaths he had me moved to the Ibanese branch of the Family to get me out of the way under the pretense of making sure I was taken care of.  He didn’t care about Ajit, but I managed to get him moved with me, because he didn’t have anyone else.”

“I didn’t know all that,” Sato admitted, eyes on Ian’s hands as he pulled the cork from the bottle with a pop.  Ian reached around him to grab the two glasses. 

“Not many people do,” Ian replied.  “Ajit was younger than me and I felt responsible for him.  I think I felt he was the only thing I could make sure I did right by.”

“And you’ve kept in touch ever since?”

“Not quite,” Ian said.  He poured a careful glass of the fine liquid.  “He disapproves of my continuation in the Family business as you might have guessed.  And it caused a bit of rift.  But I think that’s improving.”

Sato pressed his lips together and hummed noncommittedly.  Ian handed him the glass.  He didn’t tell many people his history, unless he was using it to intimidate them or bring them to his side.  But he liked the pause the additional knowledge gave Detective Sato, liked how it made him think about Ian just a little bit more. 

Sato brought the glass to his lips and inhaled the scent through his nose.  The corner of his mouth quirked up and he took a sip.  Then another, and let out a deep sigh, and his smile widened slightly. 

“Do you like it?” Ian asked.

“I do,” Sato said.  He nodded to the empty glass at Ian’s elbow.  “Are you going to have any?”

“I might.”  Ian stepped closer, and crowded Sato back against the counter.  The detective’s eyes widened.  Ian dipped his head, and lifted his hand to cover over Sato’s on the delicate wine stem.  He tilted the glass and took a sip, eyes never leaving Sato’s dark gaze.

Sato didn’t move, staring back at him with wide unwavering eyes.  His lips pressed together.  His throat bobbed as he swallowed.  Finally, he scowled. 

“Glad you got that out of your system,” he muttered.  “Can we have a polite drink like adults now?”

He pushed past Ian and into the living room.  Ian sighed, filled up his own wine glass generously, and carried both glass and bottle out of the kitchen.  He felt somewhat consoled though when he saw Akia curled up happily on her bed, seemingly unperturbed by Ian’s advances, rather than snarling as she had before. 

Sato settled himself in the armchair, so as to defend against the ambiguity of personal space on a couch no doubt, so Ian took a seat on the sofa.   

“I heard you met Dr. Song,” Ian said conversationally as he leaned back and crossed his legs, balancing the wine glass on his knee. 

“While you were having me followed?” Sato asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I told you, I’m not having you followed.”  Ian waved the question away.  “But you were in the Ghetto, you can’t imagine I don’t have eyes there.”

“Eyes that are on me,” Sato muttered. 

Ian tipped his glass to him. 

“Naturally.”

“Yes, I met Dr. Song,” Sato said.  “She seems to be doing good work.  Undoing some of your own most likely.”

“Undoing?” Ian laughed.  “She’s not undoing anything; she’s helping.”

“How so?” Sato frowned.

“She’s helping Ibanese immigrants,” Ian said.  “I may have been born in Staonia, and I may have hated Iban, but my family and I are Ibanese.  I want them to be taken care of, detective.”

“You pump drugs into their community and extort their shop owners,” Sato argued, putting his glass down and leaning forward. 

“I charge the shop owners that can afford it a legitimate protection fee.  To protect them from the Staonian racists that would vandalize and damage their property,” Ian snapped back.  “And as for the drugs, if an idiot wants to ruin his life by indulging in some cheap pleasure that’s on him not me.”

“People are products of their environments.”

“People still need to take responsibility for their own actions and their consequences.”

They glared at each other, Sato’s lips pressed into a tight line.  Ian thought he might continue to argue, or perhaps simply decide he’d been polite enough for one day and throw him out.  But then the other man leaned back and picked up his glass again.

“Dr. Song approached the Eisenmann family years ago looking for funding for her research,” Ian said, causing Sato to look up in surprise.  “You’d be surprised how poorly life-saving studies pay.  We agreed to meet all of her monetary needs and in return we brought her on.”

“Helen Song is the Eisenmann Family doctor,” Sato said quietly.

“Yes,” Ian nodded. 

“And as part of that you have her checking in on residents of the Ghetto,” Sato sighed. 

“Yes.”

Sato swirled the remnants of his wine in his glass and stayed silent.  Ian held up the bottle.

“Refill?”

“No, thank you,” Sato said.  “I’m going to turn in for the night soon.”

“May I stay at least until I finish my own?” Ian asked holding up his still half full glass.

“I suppose it would be rude to kick you out after inviting you in,” Sato admitted with a wry smile.

“I think so,” Ian agreed.  “And besides, this conversation has been very one sided.  I haven’t learned anything about you.”

“There’s nothing to know.”

“I told you about my parents; what about yours?” Ian asked.  He resumed his relaxed position and watched the other man, the way the muscles in his neck moved when his mouth turned down in a frown.

“Dead,” Sato replied in a matter of fact tone.  “Something in common I suppose.”

“I was raised afterwards by the supremely mediocre Ibanese Eisenmann boss,” Ian said.  “And yourself?”

“My grandmother, on my mother’s side,” Sato replied.  “Who I assure you was _not_ supremely mediocre.”

“I’m sure,” Ian chuckled.  “Dead as well I presume?”

“Yes,” Sato nodded.  “And I think I’ve reached whatever threshold politeness demands.”

“But, detective, I have more questions,” Ian said. 

“That’s a shame.”

“And so you live here alone now?” Ian asked, looking around again, and noting two doors off the living room, one most likely to a bathroom and one undoubtedly to a bedroom.

“Yes, as we’ve previously established.”

“Do you get lonely.”

“No.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“You don’t know me very well,” Sato shrugged. 

Ian looked forward and held the detective’s gaze.

“But I’d like to,” he said softly. 

Sato narrowed his eyes. 

“And I find that hard to believe,” he replied.  He nodded to the glass in Ian’s hand.  “Are you done yet?”

Ian sighed, and finished it.

“I suppose I am,” he said, standing.  Sato stood as well.

“I’ll show you out,” he offered.

“I think I can manage.”

Nonetheless, the detective followed him to the door and held it open.  Akia didn’t get up but watched them lazily.  Ian nodded to the detective as he stepped out the door.

“And Eisenmann,” Sato said as he left.  “Thank you for the wine.”

 

* * *

 

As the closest to the center of the city, Hidashi’s precinct had more funding than most, and more equipment.  They were fortunate to have the morgue in their basement and Dr. Matsumoto close at hand. 

The call that she had finished her examination came in the afternoon, as Hidashi and Tan were pouring over information on Metzger’s comings and goings and financials.  He made frequent donations to civil and magic user’s rights group, and was vocal about the importance of diversity hiring.  Admittedly more so than other people in his tax bracket.  He had little to no remaining family to speak of, but as far as they could find, a well-paid security force had also accompanied him everywhere he went. 

“Matsumoto’s ready for us,” Hidashi told Tan as he hung up his phone. 

“Maybe she’ll have something,” Tan said hopefully, setting aside the thick folder Metzger’s primary accountant had delivered to them over lunch. 

Hidashi chuckled.

“I don’t think she’ll have anything for us about Metzger’s financial history, Tan,” he said. 

Tan shrugged.

“A man can dream.”

The rode the purely electrical and mechanical elevator down to the basement, Hidashi shrugging on his coat to keep off the chill of the morgue.  As soon as she realized how far down they were riding, Akia’s ears flattened comically against her head.

“I don’t like it down here either,” Tan muttered to her consolingly while Hidashi hid a smile.  They exited the elevator, walked down the hall, and entered Matsumoto’s lab room.

“Good afternoon, you two,” Matsumoto said brightly, standing over the partially covered body on her exam table.  A clean white sheet draped over its lower half.

“Good day, doctor,” Hidashi said, and Tan just managed a grimace-like grin as he tried and failed to peel his eyes away from the body.  Hidashi understood.  Cleaned of river grime, the grotesqueness of the corpse lay bare.  It still maintained a human figure, but its face appeared sunken in, its skin sloughed off unevenly, and large, bulbous boils riddled it. 

“So the first thing to know,” Matsumoto began, snapping on a pair of latex gloves.  “Is that this is a woman, aged somewhere between twenty and thirty.”

“That’s quite the age range,” Hidashi frowned. 

“Unfortunately it’s the best we can do given the state of the body, and possible modifications done to it.”

“Modifications?” Tan asked.

“I’ll get to that in a moment,” Matsumoto assured him.  “The second thing you ought to know is I did a blood test and she’s a magic user.”

“Maybe the Metzger murder and this one really are connected,” Tan said thoughtfully.

“There are lots of magic users in the city,” Hidashi said.  “Facts first, theories later.”

“Now we get into the bit about modifications,” Matsumoto said.  She turned over one of the dead woman’s arms to expose the remnants of her forearm.  She traced one of her latex clad fingers over some of the patches of skin.  “You can see on both her wrists what look like restraint marks.  They’re on her ankles as well.”

“What kind of restraints?  Rope, or hand cuffs?” Hidashi asked.

“Neither,” Matsumoto shook her head.  “Actually, they look more like medical restraints.”

“Medical restraints?” Tan repeated. 

“Yes, like the sort used in hospitals or psych wards,” she replied.  “And there’s more: I’ve found a couple track marks on the mostly unblemished skin on her forearms.  I’d wager I’d have found more if there were more skin.”

“Drugs?” Hidashi asked.

“No, they were more precise than that.  They weren’t clumsy insertions,” she said.  “It’s just that there were many of them, and some of them might have stayed in for some time.”

“So when you said ‘modifications’, you were thinking something that was done to her in a medical facility,” Tan said.

“No,” Matsumoto said.  “I’m not working with much, but there’s nothing to really suggest a high level of sophistication or technology.  These things could have been done in a high tech hospital, or in the garage of someone with basic medical training, there’s really no way to tell right now.”

“And there’s nothing to suggest either the restraints or the injections were malicious?” Hidashi pointed out. 

“That’s correct,” Matsumoto agreed.  “I discovered something else in her blood sample.  Antibodies and a few foreign agents that I couldn’t identify but I don’t know if those iv insertions and injections caused them or were meant to treat them.”

“So you don’t know what caused all...this.” Tan waved vaguely to the spectacle before them. 

Matsumoto sighed.

“In short, no,” she replied.  “I can only tell you what I found.  Unfortunately, this looks biological, like a sickness, but my focus has never been on pathology.  Most of my work involves more straight forward deaths: stabbings, bullet wounds, fire, falling from great heights, et cetera.”  

“Thank you for your help,” Hidashi said, frowning down at the dead woman.

“Hey, you know, we just met someone who’s focus is on pathology,” Tan said with a grin to Hidashi.  “And she said she’d be glad to help.”

“And who did you two meet?” Matsumoto asked, putting her hands on her hips.

“Dr. Helen Song, in the Ghetto,” Hidashi replied. 

Matsumoto sniffed. 

“Call it professional jealousy, but I think she’s a bit overrated.” 

Hidashi laughed.

“I think professional jealousy is exactly what I’ll call it,” he said.  “But it doesn’t matter; we won’t be calling her.  Have a good rest of your day, doctor.”

He, Tan, and Akia headed gratefully back to the elevator and a floor that wasn’t cold as death and didn’t smell like formaldehyde. 

“Why won’t we call her?” Tan asked.  “She could help, the worst thing she could do is not.”

“No, the worst thing she could do is sabotage us,” Hidashi corrected, thinking of the seemingly friendly woman slipping behind his back to whisper secrets in Eisenmann’s ear. 

“What?  She wouldn’t do that,” Tan frowned.  “Do you think she’d do that?”

Hidashi sighed as the image dissolved.  It wasn’t like Eisenmann didn’t have access to any information he wanted with or without the Family doctor’s help.

“No,” he said.  “Probably not.  I’ll think about it.”

“Okay,” Tan said slowly, shooting Hidashi a strange look.  But he didn’t press the issue. 

Hidashi crossed his arms and thought about the possibility of asking Song for help as they rode up, and exited onto their floor.  He was already uncomfortable with the amount that the Eisenmann Family had managed to insert themselves into the investigation, and he was wary of extending that amount to a woman that he couldn’t help but think had misrepresented herself to them.  Something about asking for and accepting her help seemed wrong on principle.

Hidashi frowned, and looked at a crime scene photo of the body as they had found it.  Principle didn’t trump the need for real results for real people.  Principles and ethics didn’t count for much at all when faced with morality and reality.  Begrudgingly he put down the photo and nodded at Tan.

“Try to get ahold of her,” he said.  “See if she’ll consult with us.”

Tan grinned at him and nodded, picking up his desk phone, once again happy to be setting aside his folder of boredom.

Multiple calls and hours later the detectives had only managed to reach her assistant and had been met only with variations of “I’m very sorry, but Dr. Song is very busy with very important client and she really can’t be reached right now.  No I’m sorry I can’t tell you any more than that, doctor patient confidentiality you understand.”

Tan slammed the phone back down in the receiver with more force than strictly necessary.

“You know,” he said.  “I always thought people would be more willing to help the police solve murders.”

“What, you haven’t found that to be the case?” Hidashi drawled with a half-smile. 

“It feels like everyone we approach wants nothing to do with us,” Tan said.

“Well, this case has been more frustrating than others,” Hidashi told him.  “They’re not all this bad.  We just seem to be dealing with a lot of secretive people this time.”

“So what now?  We go back to digging?” Tan asked, eyeing the folder distastefully. 

Hidashi stood and grabbed his coat.

“You do, yes,” he said with smirk.  “I think I have an idea who this very important client is.”

“You think it’s Eisenmann, don’t you?” Tan said, crossing his arms.  Hidashi’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“I—Yes,” he replied.  “How did you know?”

“You get a look when you’re about to go see him.”

“A look?” Hidashi asked skeptically. 

“Like you’re gearing up for a fight.”

Hidashi chuckled.

“Well, I suppose that’s as accurate a description as any,” he admitted.  “Same as before.  You stay here.  I’ll take Akia.  You don’t hear from me in two hours send squad cars after me.”

“Will do, boss,” Tan said, touching his forelock and settling himself reluctantly into his desk.

 

* * *

 

No one bothered to stop Hidashi as he and Akia made their way through The Gentlemen’s Gambit and to the back rooms.  They strode down the long hallway to Eisenmann’s office, and one of the enforcers standing guard knocked on the door.

“Detective, boss,” he called.

“Send him in,” Eisenmann’s voice commanded. 

The enforcer nodded to Hidashi, and opened the door and closed it behind them.

“Detective Sato,” Eisenmann said in a silky voice, a smile sliding over his features.  “Twice in twenty-four hours, what a pleasure.”

Hidashi didn’t reply right away, gauging the man in front of him and trying to decide which Ian Eisenmann he was getting today.  The one who invaded his space and made vaguely threatening advances, or the one who recognized his fear of heights when no one else did and eased it without a word.

“Eisenmann,” he greeted neutrally.  He made a quick calculation of the pros and cons, and then opted to sit in the uncomfortable seat across the imposing desk.  “You’ve offered to help us with investigations before.”

“I have,” Eisenmann nodded.

“I have a request for your help now,” he said.

“Do you?”

“We need a consultation with Helen Song on the body we found by the river bank.”

“Ah yes, I heard you’d been making calls,” Eisenmann smirked.  Hidashi just narrowed his eyes.  He knew he was offering himself up to be played with when he walked into the room.  But he could bare it if he walked out with what he needed. 

“And I take it you’ve been telling her to stonewall us?” Hidashi asked.

“Not at all,” Ian shook his head.  “But you can imagine her people are wary of cops, what with their affiliation with me.  I can give you the information to reach her personally if you like though.”

“I would like that,” Hidashi said. 

“Perfect,” Ian said, smile widening and he leaned forward across his desk.  Hidashi’s stomach sank and chilled.  “I want two things from you, and then I’ll happily do so.”

“Of course you do,” Hidashi snorted.  He felt his muscles tense and fought the urge to leap from his chair, forcing his posture to maintain a sense of nonchalance.

 _He wants to fuck me_.

The vulgar thought fought to the forefront of Hidashi’s mind over and over no matter how many time’s Hidashi shoved it back.  That was too blatant, too obvious, too easy for Hidashi to deny to be Eisenmann’s style.  But the thought persisted, making Hidashi feel cold and sick in a way he had trouble identifying. 

“And what do you want,” he forced out smoothly.

“First, I want an answer to a question.” 

Hidashi’s thoughts stuttered. 

“What question?”

“Where were you when you got the news that your parents were dead?”

Hidashi drew back as though the man had slapped him.  He turned the question over and over, stunned by it.  But to his surprise, the question instead of the demand he’d almost been expecting didn’t lessen the sickness in his stomach.

Where was he when he learned his parents were dead.  Of course he remembered, he remembered vividly.  But he didn’t talk about it.  He didn’t draw people into that memory with him.  He didn’t invite criminals that wanted to get into his pants and under his skin into his past.

“What do you want from me?” Hidashi asked, ashamed of the stricken sound in his voice. 

Eisenmann tilted his head as he observed him.

“I want an answer to my question.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t think it’s a question you answer for most people.”

“I don’t,” Hidashi confirmed.

“And I want you to answer it for me,” Eisenmann leaned closer, holding his gaze.

“I don’t need Song this bad,” Hidashi bit out. 

“Then leave,” Eisenmann offered, but Hidashi didn’t move, and before he knew it he was opening his mouth.

“I was ten years old and I’d gotten into a fight on the playground with an older boy who made fun of me because I was small,” he said, eyes riveted to where Eisenmann’s hands lay folded before him on the desk.  “I got detention and had to stay after school, which is why I wasn’t with them when they went to the library.  There was a library in the south side, still is, and they had started an after school reading program there for the other kids.”

Eisenmann’s hands tightened as Hidashi went on, and he focused on the play of muscles and tendons under alabaster skin.

“They were supposed to pick me up after I got out.  I sat on the curb; it started to get dark.  Typical ten-year-old, I thought my parents didn’t love me anymore because I’d been bad and gotten in a fight.”  Hidashi swallowed.  “My grandmother eventually showed up, took me back home, and that’s when she told me what had happened.”

The next words caught in Hidashi’s throat, ready to come tumbling out, almost wanting to, but they caught.  He closed his mouth swallowed again.

“And what had happened?” Ian asked, softly, so softly Hidashi felt the words almost like a caress against the words that fought him. 

Hidashi shook himself.

“I answered your question,” he snapped, looking up to meet Eisenman’s eyes again.  “You asked me where I was, I told you.  You want to know more you have to use your second request.  Is that what you want to do?”

Eisenmann held his gaze for a few beats, as though warring with that possibility, but then sighed.

“No,” he admitted.  “I don’t.”

“Good, now what else do you want?” Hidashi demanded.

Eisenmann stood from his chair and walked around the desk.  He leaned against it, looking down at Hidashi, and Hidashi resisted the urge to fidget under the intense gaze.  He clenched his fists. 

“Just a small thing,” Eisenmann murmured.  He leaned down, and bracketed Hidashi in against his chair.  “Let me kiss you.”

Air fled Hidashi’s lungs.

His heart beat painfully. 

He put both hands on Eisenmann’s broader chest and shoved, forcing him back and springing to his feet.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he snarled.  Akia rushed between Hidashi and Eisenmann, barking sharply.  The loud sound banged around in Hidashi’s head and he gripped his hair tightly.  “Akia down!”

She barked again, snarling at Eisenmann, and Hidashi grabbed her collar and pulled her away in an unusual show of frustration. 

“Down, Akia.  Over there.”

“Sato—“

“No,” Hidashi yelled backing away, trying to find his own space.  “Stop playing these games, Eisenmann.  I’m sick of them.”

“I’m not playing—“

“Yes you are,” Hidashi said.  “What do you want?” 

Everything.  He wanted everything, just so he could have it, never mind what it did to Hidashi in the process.

“I want to kiss you,” Eisenmann said, firmly, but calmly.  “And I want you to let me.”  Hidashi glared at him, bringing his hands back down to his side.  “Just one kiss and then I’ll give you what you want.”

“It was never worth this,” Hidashi said.

“You already answered my first question, you don’t want to leave empty handed now,” Eisenmann pointed out, coming closer.  Hidashi forced his breath into something steady.

“You’re a bastard,” Hidashi muttered.  He closed his eyes, and felt a large, surprisingly warm hand caress up his neck and cradle his jaw in a palm.  He didn’t open them, didn’t want to see Eisenmann press closer until he could feel the heat radiating from his body.

“Is that an agreement?” Eisenmann husked, and the soft puff of breath scattered over Hidashi’s nose.  Hidashi squeezed his eyes shut tighter, wanted to lash out but couldn’t seem to find the energy again.

“Yes,” he finally murmured.

As soon as the exhalation left his lips, Eisenmann surged forward.  He hungrily slotted his mouth over Hidashi’s, and pressed him back, back against the wall.  Hidashi grunted as the taller man pinned him tightly, the hard line of his body hot against him.

Eisenmann’s other hand joined the first on Hidashi’s jaw, angling his face up to give him more access and he ran his tongue along the seam of Hidashi’s unresponsive lips.  At his refusal the man let out a small growl and slipped a hard thigh between Hidashi’s legs, and rubbed up against him.

Hidashi moaned. 

Before he could process his own cry, Eisenmann took the advantage to thrust his tongue into Hidashi’s mouth.  Hidashi fisted his hands in Eisenmann’s jacket, struggling to keep his head above water.  The smooth glide of Eisenmann’s tongue against his, not coaxing just taking, made his knees weak.  Eisenmann held him up, tight against the wall, and he rolled his thigh once more against Hidashi’s shockingly hard length. 

A hot burst of shame shot through Hidashi when he whimpered, when he cried out as Eisenmann did it a third time.  Eisenmann licked into his mouth pulling Hidashi’s head up to meet him.

Hidashi struggled. 

Gasping, and shaking, but he struggled.  He pulled his head away, and managed to force his arms up between the two of them severing the intoxicating, domineering contact. 

“Stop,” he said breathlessly.  He swallowed, took a few deep breaths.  “Stop.”

“Hidashi—“

“Detective Sato,” Hidashi corrected.  He finally looked up at the man, still too close for comfort.  His perfect suit hung slightly askew, and his hair was mussed, but his eyes shone bright, the dark pupils nearly swallowing the irises.  Hidashi took another shaky breath.  “You got what you wanted, now give me what I came for.”

Eisenmann stood before him a couple more moments, his own breath heavy and uneven. Finally, he nodded and took a step back.  He went to his desk, opened a drawer, and took out a piece of paper.  He used an expensive ballpoint pen from the top of his desk to write a few things on it, and then handed it to Hidashi.

“Call this number,” he said.  “And say these words first thing.  Then she’ll know I sent you.”

“You swear this will work,” Hidashi asked, holding the piece of paper up.

“I swear it,” Eisenmann replied. “I wouldn’t trick you into this…detective.”

Hidashi licked his lips, and straightened his shirt.  He finally broke contact with Eisenmann’s too intense gaze, and his dark eyes that seemed to be saying too many things.  He tucked the paper into his pocket, turned to the door of the office, patted his thigh for Akia to follow, and left.     
  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: thanks for reading friends! I hope you enjoyed it and I’ll try to be better about updating in the future. 
> 
> ~Eryn Ivers

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: And we’re off! I have now officially posted the first chapter and am committing myself to a novel length undertaking. I certainly hope this goes well, and I hope you enjoyed what you’ve seen so far. 
> 
> I’d love to hear from you and will make a point to reply to any and all reviews! Have a wonderful rest of your week.
> 
> ~ Eryn Ivers


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